


The Distant Sunrise

by Ninjinnji



Series: The Resurrection of House Zhikâ [1]
Category: Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Also playing around with geography, FYI this is not the most Jedi friendly fic, Found Family, Making up my own timeline, Queerplatonic Relationships, This will cover events on Korriban Hutta Tython and Ord Mantell, Warnings listed in chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:53:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 56,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26255944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ninjinnji/pseuds/Ninjinnji
Summary: To become Sith is the only destiny that has ever laid before Aelladios. It is the only one he can remember having, though he knows that was not always the truth. For Santhenis, entering Korriban’s Academy is an opportunity she never imagined she would receive. Power in such magnitude had always been beyond her wildest dreams and she refuses to waste this chance.In a different corner of the galaxy, Arkosua finds his way into Hutt space on orders from Imperial Intelligence. It is his first and only opportunity to prove himself. A fledgling hunter at the beginning of his career finds himself in a similar position. Entering the Great Hunt will be impossible for Arliianer if he cannot impress a Huttese crime lord.And deep in the heart of the Republic, Phakrill arrives on Tython to begin her trials of knighthood. She does not think she is ready, and she dreads facing them. The trusted captain from her childhood is lightyears away and unable pull her out. Grounded by the civil war on Ord Mantell, Rallinois will not be able to save her this time.
Relationships: Imperial Agent & Bounty Hunter, Jedi Consular & Smuggler, Sith Inquisitor & Sith Warrior
Series: The Resurrection of House Zhikâ [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2186685
Kudos: 5





	1. The One Where Aelladios Gets Bitten

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ClarissaSkyeMarlo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClarissaSkyeMarlo/gifts).



> I've included a lot of footnotes for the benefit of my significant other, who is very new to Star Wars. I wanted them to be able to understand the context around this fic (and I also like infodumping).
> 
> Chapters will have warnings listed in the summary.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having finally arrived on Korriban for his trials, Aelladios finds himself embroiled in Overseer Tremel’s plot before he can even begin the tests. If he wants to survive schemes and the Academy both, he must forge his own alliances. An opportunity for one arises when he runs into another acolyte named Santhenis.
> 
> Warnings: mention of nudity, reference to unsafe medical procedures, sensitivity to medication, scars, references to attempted murder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Corresponds with Sith Warrior: Arm Yourself and Bonus Mission: Cleanse the Valley

_Korriban, 10 ATC – Aelladios_

The summons to the Sith Academy[1] on Korriban[2] had been…unexpected, though overdue.

Aelladios was much older than the typical acolyte from Ziost[3], despite the Korribanian instructors pushing for his transfer to the main Academy for years now. His previous overseers had always refused the advancement on the flimsy basis that he’d only had a decade of training. Most students on Ziost received at least twice that before their selection for Korriban – they were usually trained from birth, unlike him. All acolytes were relegated to training facilities away from the Sith home world until they were at least twenty standard[4] (or whatever age was equivalent in their species).

Despite his late start, he was always dedicated and proficient in his studies. That desire to learn hadn’t interfered with his martial prowess, but his teachers had used it as one of many arbitrary barriers to hold him back from the Academy proper. Ziost’s overseers had initially been pleased with his natural affinity for the Force, but he lacked the feral personality they sought to cultivate in the younger would-be Sith. Aelladios was always placid and difficult to anger in comparison to most of his frothing classmates.

The instructors had naturally taken his even-tempered disposition as a personal insult.

Korriban left much to be desired anyway, from what Aelladios had read in the archives. The high death rate among acolytes wasn’t caused entirely by the resident variety of Sith and aggressive wildlife. Rather, it was the planet’s climate that claimed the most lives, particularly when acolytes underestimated its cold severity during the night. The desert world boasted little in the way of plant life and nothing that could be used for shelter. The daylight weather was also largely unvarying: clear skies and full sunlight from the system’s star, Horuset.[5] It would be impossible to spare his pale skin from the desert sun.

Though the sunlight was insufficient to warm the dry planet (due to the distance of Korriban’s orbit), it still contained more than enough UVB rays[6] to scorch his delicate skin. While on Ziost, he’d often had cause to lament the genes that gave him his dusky red hair. They rendered him incapable of developing natural skin pigment due to a _mostly_ harmless MC1R mutation.[7] The resulting sunburns from prolonged exposure were only ever a hindrance, no matter how many times his instructors told him to draw strength from the pain.

As daunting as the desert was, he had other things to worry about when they landed.

He waited for the turbulence to pass before stepping into the cockpit. They’d made atmosphere successfully and he wanted an aerial view of Korriban before they landed. The view from the frontal windows was mostly pale orange skies, the red canyon tombs distant below. He couldn’t discern much else aside from their general dimensions, which was a shame. However, that was for the best; those who couldn’t use the Force often went mad if they came too close to the lingering presences of long dead darksiders. Having a crazed pilot crash the shuttle didn’t sound like an enjoyable experience to begin his trials with.

The landing pad came into view twenty minutes later, the unpainted structure flashing in the early morning light. He returned to the passenger bay as the shuttle pulled up to the docking platform and lowered the ramp, reminding himself to keep his complaints unspoken. It was unlikely that any of the instructors here would listen to him. Like his previous teachers, they’d be more likely to strip him of all protective layers and force him out into the cold – naked – so they could laugh at his acute discomfort and the resulting sunspots that scattered across his skin once the burns faded.

There had even been a few that had become cancerous. He’d had several patches of skin removed by the sabers of those same Ziost overseers, who then left him to mend the aftermath of the “surgeries” by himself. Attempts to apply kolto[8] to the affected areas had sped the healing process, but it left Aelladios’ senses foggy and vulnerable. When he’d finally been coherent enough to investigate his abnormal reaction, research had once again placed the fault on his mutation. Apparently, he was far more susceptible to the painkillers mixed into the kolto than the average sentient.[9]

The entire experience was something he preferred to avoid for the rest of his training.

He stepped off the shuttle, flanked by a few of the troopers that had accompanied him. A dark-skinned human man in Sith attire awaited them by the shaded entrance of the building as they disembarked the shuttle. Rather than approach the man immediately, Aelladios took a moment to properly assess his surroundings by walking over to the edge of the landing pad. The overseer could wait a bit longer for him to take in his first real impression of the planet.

Behind the shuttle lay a sprawling canyon lined with weathered statues of ancient Sith, large enough that the cliffs on the far end were beginning to fade into the atmosphere. The carved effigies had clearly been damaged by more than just gusty winds, deep scars left over from the last time Jedi had come to raze the Empire’s birthplace. Most of them flanked dark caves, which he assumed must be entrances to individual tombs. Sith never had liked sharing – the layout didn’t surprise him in the least.

Turning back to look at the overseer, Aelladios caught a full face of reflected sunlight from the unpainted metal platform. His eyes watered. _How inconvenient._

Glare wasn’t the only thing to find fault in. Local temperatures were cold enough that he wished he had a cloak to shiver in. It was also dry enough that he could feel the inside of his throat begin to pull taut. If he forgot to keep himself hydrated, the delicate skin there was going to crack and bleed.

Arid regions had never played to his strong suits, as he’d learned early on during his time on Ziost. For a moment, he silently bemoaning the environmental conditions of Korriban. It was going to be a challenge to complete his trials between sensory overload, burnt skin, dehydration, and possibly frostbite or hypothermia.

Catching the scornful look aimed at his imperial escort, Aelladios dismissed the soldiers trailing him. Their presence wouldn’t do him any good here; the trials were to test the mettle of potential Sith, not the Empire’s subservient military forces. He approached the overseer alone and gave a short perfunctory bow as he came into the shadow of the building. It was nothing like the bows his previous instructors had demanded – they had taken gleeful delight in obeisances and often lauded themselves in front of groveling acolytes. Kneeling before overseers hadn’t ever sat well with him, so if he could get away with the bare minimum, he would.

The scrutinizing, brown eyed glare that met him when he straightened told him this Sith didn’t much care for the usual formalities either. He’d likely be expected to show deference in a different manner. The real question was when and in what manner the overseer would make his demands of fealty. Right now, the man was looking Aelladios from head to toe, assessing him, so the acolyte felt it was only natural to do his own inspection in turn.

His new instructor’s armor was polished, but unpainted – likely durasteel – and he sported black armorweave underneath. There were several rings adorning his fingers, which had about as many wrinkles as the man’s face did; he’d been around longer than most Sith could claim to be. Someone Aelladios needed to watch his step around then. Once the overseer finished his judgment of Aelladios’ appearance, he spoke, voice clipped with the usual Imperial accent.

“At last, you’ve arrived. Good, good. There is much to do and every moment is critical. I am Overseer Tremel,” the man announced, “For decades, I’ve administered the trials that prove who is and is not worthy to join the Sith Order.”

Tremel paused for a moment, giving him another assessing look. The introduction lacked the typical fanfare of gloating most Sith made over their personal achievements. So far, he seemed the most capable of the overseers that had taught Aelladios – save the first – by a large margin. Not that it was a very impressive achievement on Tremel’s part; the others had been too high on their own egos to be effective instructors to someone like himself.

“The trials are a chance to weed out the weak,” Tremel said gravely, “Those who face them either survive and become Sith, or die.”

“I am aware,” he answered dryly. Few failed acolytes lived to tell the tale, as everyone on Ziost well knew. They either died at the hands of their overseers for failing a trial, or never returned from the tombs. Acolytes often recognized their shortcomings and loitered among the graves, unsuccessfully attempting to murder another acolyte to assume their position. Aelladios knew well that such ploys rarely saw success. The reminder was unnecessary.

Tremel frowned at Aelladios.

“I didn’t bring you here for levity.”

The overseer began walking back towards the main building but didn’t enter, pausing instead underneath the small overhang preceding the doorway. The shuttle took off from the landing pad behind them and Aelladios spared a glance at its retreat. He was now alone with his new instructor. After glancing around furtively, Tremel said, “Yes, you are here and ahead of schedule because of me. I expect you to obey.”

Of _course_ he’d only end up on Korriban because someone was pulling strings that they shouldn’t be. He should have realized what was going on. The Ziost instructors had never wanted Aelladios to make it this far. It stood to reason that only a scheme by someone more influential could override their determination to keep him underfoot. He kept his expression neutral as the overseer made his offer, resolved to not let any of his frustration leak through.

“You face your trials, you serve me, and I will make you the most powerful acolyte here.”

Any of the other Ziost trainees would have fallen for that empty promise; hook, line, and sinker. Aelladios knew better. While connections could buy a certain amount of influence among the Sith, it meant nothing if he didn’t have the strength to back his reputation. The question here was whether he _wanted_ Tremel to know that it meant nothing to him. Depending on who the overseer was plotting against, it might be preferable to feign naivety if the plot went ill. Aelladios added _“discovering Tremel’s plans”_ to his growing list of tasks and chose to remain silent, allowing his new instructor to continue.

“The trials themselves are difficult enough, but they are hardly the greatest threat you face,” Tremel admitted, running a hand over his short, coily black hair, “There’s an acolyte here called Vemrin. He’s your enemy, and he will try to kill you. We must prepare you.”

A laughable warning. While his public combat scores hadn’t been updated in years, Aelladios was by far the most proficient acolyte Ziost had ever produced – as far as lightsaber forms went. He knew his own skills well enough that his confidence in his martial prowess was easily mistaken for arrogance by others. It was a good screening tactic; let everyone think he was all bark and no bite. It was easier to get them to drop their guard that way. Letting the barest hint of a smile through, he said, “I look forward to it.”

That earned him a smile from Tremel.

“With my guidance, someday you’ll destroy all your enemies.”

Perhaps. Aelladios had a few doubts as to how useful that guidance would actually be. The overseer could provide him with ample opportunities to increase his strength, but it was up to himself to make the most of it. He was already on thin ice; “specially advanced” acolytes were held to ridiculously high standards in comparison to the average Sith hopefuls. While they were well known to be powerful, not many managed to live up to expectations and attain themselves an apprenticeship.

The fact that he was in this position at Tremel’s behest was both flattering and infuriating.

“Those practice swords you’ve arrived with are insufficient – the blades of lesser acolytes,” the overseer informed him, “You need dominating weapons.”

His current vibroblades[10] had long been insufficient, but none of his previous instructors had seen fit to accommodate Aelladios with a new set. The battered weapons were barely hanging on (only thanks to the meticulous repairs he’d made over the years) and he wouldn’t be surprised if they broke on him midway through a trial. After repeated damage from dueling lightsaber wielders, there was only so much he could do to hold the aging weapons together. They were going to fall apart irreparably sooner rather than later, and he’d long been covetous of better tools.

Aelladios was looking forward to this trial.

“In the tomb of Ajunta Pall,[11] there’s an old armory,” Tremel said, “Two strong Sith warblades[12] await you there.”

He knew exactly which weapons the overseer was sending him to claim. Alchemy and the creation of warblades had always interested him. Hundreds of hours had been logged in the archives to supplement his curiosity. Such weapons were _far_ superior to his vibroblades, second in power only to modern lightsabers (though Aelladios begged to differ; Pall’s warblades would likely be an equal match to any Kyber weapon).[13]

As the property of the first Sith, the twin swords would – without question – be the best warblades found on the planet, even if they had never seen battle with their original owner. The common equivalents scavenged from open chambers for use by acolytes were laughably pitiful next to such magnificent weapons. He’d gain a massive combat advantage over his rivals by wielding them.

According to the records he’d found on these specific blades, no less than 600 acolytes had tried and failed to breach the sealed armory they were stored in, their bones littering the antechamber to this day. There were even a few skeletons that had once been councilmembers scattered between the piles, the armory still sealed despite their best efforts. Claiming the warblades from the tomb would not only determine his ability to continue as Tremel’s latest pawn, but also give him a distinct prestige no other Sith had _ever_ received.

The thought _almost_ made him giddy.

Some of his anticipation must have leaked through his expression, because Tremel gave him another deadpan glare and warned, “The tomb is thick with k’lor’slugs[14] – deadly, savage creatures. Be speedy but careful. They’ve been the end of many an acolyte.”

Even if he hadn’t already known how dangerous k’lor’slugs were, that reminder was enough to put him on his guard...though he was still looking forward to delving into the tomb. But even before facing man-eating monsters, Aelladios still needed to cross a Korribanian desert to reach the burial site. By _daylight_.

Logically, he knew the rule was in place to keep foolhardy acolytes from braving into – and then subsequently perishing in – the frigid nights, but it still felt more personal than that. His gray tunics didn’t have a hood sewn onto them. With nothing to cover his head, a sunburn would be unavoidable. Ignorant to Aelladios’ apprehension, the overseer continued, “Once you acquire the warblades, I suggest you spend some time in the tomb bloodying them. Then come to me in my chambers in the Academy.”

That he could easily do, but Aelladios still wasn’t looking forward to the desert. He bid the overseer farewell, careful to keep any distaste clear from his expression, and was waved off towards the building as Tremel pulled out a datapad. Dismissal clear, he walked inside the building attached to the speeder pad, intent on beginning his trek immediately. The burial grounds of Ajunta Pall lay just under a full Korribanian day’s walk from the other end of the compound and he’d much prefer to get it over with. The sooner he was among the tomb’s shadows and out of the sun, the better.

In his haste, he nearly bowled over another acolyte just inside the doorway, having missed them while his eyes adjusted to the dimly lit corridor. Instinctively, Aelladios reached out an arm to steady them but they smacked it away and drew a few steps back, further into the heavy, blue tinged air of the hallway. _Rude_ , he thought to himself, but such behavior was not out of place on Korriban, or anywhere else Sith frequented.

The other acolyte was a dark-skinned Mirialan[15] dressed in a red tunic. His eyes were immediately drawn to her shockingly white hair, which she had nothing to tie back with. The pale locks floated in a cloud around her head and it felt both _horribly_ familiar and entirely _unknown_.

_Not good._

When that sensation reared its head, he didn’t take long to collapse. Worse, he could never quite remember what had caused it when he came to afterwards. Aelladios had been hoping he wouldn’t find anything on Korriban that would incur the awful sensation.

He wanted to tuck her hair back into place.

The air constricted around him.

Forcing the awful sensation down and very deliberately not thinking about her hair, he managed to say, “Sorry about that,” and offered his hand to her again in reconciliation. She stared at it suspiciously and didn’t make any movement to return the gesture. Aelladios dropped his hand back to his side.

Purple eyes flicked to his face, where the Sith tattoo[16] he couldn’t remember getting was etched into his forehead. He made his own passing observance of the rhombic tattoos she herself sported across the bridge of her nose and cheeks, barely visible against the deep green of her skin. There hadn’t been much information on the cultural meaning of Mirialan tattoos in the Ziost archives, but he’d seen enough records to infer hers meant something Force related. They looked new.

He also noted she carried a single vibroblade over her right shoulder that looked relatively unused. That was rather odd for an acolyte. Most had some combat training with vibroblades before arriving at the Academy as preparation for wielding a saber, and their weapons looked accordingly worn. The Mirialan looked like she wasn’t even used to _carrying_ one, clearly favoring her weightbearing leg.

They spent a moment longer staring at each other before he offered her his name. He _was_ in the market for allies, given that he had none, so a little friendliness couldn’t hurt.

“I’m Aelladios.”

Her hair settled, deigning to obey gravity as the corner of her mouth twitched.

“Santhenis,” she said with a mild frown. The name was entirely new to him and thankfully did not evoke the same reaction her untidy hair had. It would have been awkward if he forgot that. There _was_ , however, a whisper in the Force around her and he had the niggling impression that she would be important later. He wasn’t sure if it would be as an enemy or an ally and he hoped it was the latter.

For a passing moment, Aelladios wished he was better at understanding the forewarnings that sometimes came to him through the Unifying Force,[17] but his talents lay elsewhere. He did know that he needed a partner far more than an archenemy (and he couldn’t afford to be picky here), so he smiled in a genial manner and offered her another piece of information. She seemed like she wasn’t the most conversational person.

“I’m under Tremel.”

Her stance lost a minute degree of stiffness as she replied, “Harkun.”

That was good; since she wasn’t in the same pool as him, they wouldn’t be directly pitted against each other. He could endeavor to earn her favor without directly harming his own prospects. There wasn’t much point making allies within his own group – who he had yet to meet – since he’d have to triumph over the rest of them.

“Did you just arrive on planet?” he asked, keeping his posture open and friendly, relaxing so he didn’t tower over her. She nodded, but her reserved expression closed further and the murmurs in the Force died. No words in response to questions, apparently. He’d avoid asking directly in the future; there were other ways to prompt people into sharing information. The typical unspoken rules of polite conversation often afforded him ample opportunities to learn what he wanted to.

“So did I,” Aelladios revealed, pretending she’d given him a verbal answer instead of a sullen glance. A passing skim over the surface of her shields showed them to be completely opaque – unusual for a new acolyte. Shielding wasn’t a skill generally emphasized by the overseers, though they were required to teach the basic methods. Not that he would have delved into her mind uninvited; that was _unspeakably_ rude and counterproductive to his current goals.

Hoping his next subtle dig for information wouldn’t burn him later, he said casually, “My first task is to claim a warblade or two from the tomb of Ajunta Pall. I’m looking forward to getting new weapons.”

Her feet shifted but her face remained remarkable impassive for his admission of being assigned to open a famously unopenable armory. Did she not know the tomb’s history? Odd implications if she didn’t, but the other option was that Santhenis had a phenomenal Sabacc[18] face. Better than his, even. Reading her was going to be far more difficult than anyone else he’d met before (except those Sith who favored covering their faces with helms). Trying to discern her micro-expressions was like staring at a mannequin and highly unnerving.

Her body language suddenly tightened – he caught a hint of realization in her eyes – and the Force surged to bubble around her. The warning was clearer than Kyber this time: cornering her would get him bitten (literally). A good call on her part. No one ever expected a Sith to bite. He wondered where she’d been trained before coming to Korriban. She’d clearly received an unbalanced instruction, between her impressive shields and a weapon that went unused in favor of her teeth.

It _definitely_ wasn’t Ziost; he’d remember someone like Santhenis.

“That’s nice?” she said eventually, her voice quiet. That was about the answer Aelladios had assumed he’d get from the Mirialan. He wasn’t expecting her to add, “My first trial is in the tomb too.”

That was such a wonderfully vague answer to his phishing attempt that he was frankly impressed. She'd given him an acceptable response to his question without revealing anything; every aspiring Sith was aware that first trials were traditionally assigned near Pall's burial grounds. Few sentients realized when he was guiding a conversation and she had certainly just proved she wasn’t naïve enough to be led into divulging information that she'd prefer to keep private. Santhenis' verbal sidestepping made him want to share a conspiring laugh with her, even though she’d caught him out for prying.

“We can walk to the entrance together then,” he said good-naturedly, willing to cede the well-earned victory of their exchange to her. Aelladios _had_ been the one to gamble and lose information after all, though he’d still been able to learn something about Santhenis. He took a few backward steps down the hall, posture loose and still facing the Mirialan, adding, “If you want to.”

She was perfectly entitled to refuse his request, but he received an ambivalent look as she fell in beside him, matching his stride as best she could with her shorter legs and glancing over every few steps. He slowed his pace to something more leisurely so she didn't have to jog to keep up.

Rippling around her, the Force still buzzed with caution – Aelladios couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so insistently notified of a threat, though the one lying in Santhenis was currently dormant. He was far more likely to miss any and all red flags before nearly getting his head taken off for not acknowledging them. It was the usual tradeoff for being so inclined to the Living Force.[19] He was far more proficient there, as well as in the Physical aspect.[20]

To ease some of the strain that he could sense, he let his shoulders slope down and chose a gait that was nonthreatening. Keeping his hands clearly away from his weapons was a little harder. He was used to prowling around the other acolytes on Ziost while occasionally reaching up and drawing them – an effort to simultaneously stave off and intimidate his rivals. Santhenis’ body language softened minutely in what Aelladios knew was a subconscious response and he counted that as a win, small as it was. As they rounded a corner, she’d relaxed enough to say, “You’re not what I expected from a Sith acolyte.”

_Ah._ It was his turn to be questioned, in a far blunter manner than he’d expected. The way she addressed him – as if she wasn’t also an acolyte – felt odd to him. Seemingly inexperienced in combat…referring to acolytes as a separate group from herself… _had she even been in training before coming to Korriban?_

Maybe she was a late discovery from one of the Imperial worlds that had previously been under Republic control during the Great Galactic War,[21] ten years ago. There had been a few acolytes from that background on Ziost, but he’d never heard of one going straight from their home world to the trials with no formal education on Sith doctrine. Giving her a casual shrug that betrayed none of his confusion, he answered vaguely, “I get that a lot.”

As a rather unconventional Sith acolyte, half the reason he’d lived through the last decade had been his ability to hunt out secrets while keeping his own. Remaining a relatively unknown factor on Ziost had often played to his favor. Well, it also boiled down to his excellent martial skills – even when unarmed. The few times he’d been targeted, they’d seriously underestimated him since he often didn’t train at the same time as the other acolytes. Ingrained reflexes also made up for most of his inability to heed Force warnings. His skill in evasion despite his blindness in the Unifying Force often threw his opponents for a loop.

Fishing around in his pocket for a spare hair tie, he held it out to Santhenis. He always kept extras just in case the one tying his own hair back got lost or torn. If he could convince the Mirialan to ally with him, he’d prefer she be able to keep her hair from floating around and untethering him from the present moment. Their potential partnership would go much smoother if he could remember it in its entirety. His hand came up to about the level of her chin with how much shorter she was than him.

“Do you want a tie for your hair? I imagine it gets in the–”

She bit him.

The hallway lit up with a flash of violet Sith lightning. Startled from the small burst of electricity that came with the teeth digging into his skin, Aelladios let out a curse, dropping the hair tie. Santhenis sprang back like she’d been burnt. That was on him, really. He should have known better. A new person pulling out an unknown object could easily be misconstrued as a threat and he _had_ completely missed the warning, as per usual.

Aelladios picked up the fallen ribbon before he realized the Mirialan had frozen a few feet away from him, head down with her shoulders braced. Like she was waiting to be punished. That confused him; a bite was _hardly_ the worst injury she could have given him. Frankly, it wouldn’t have even made his list of memorable wounds if she hadn’t also used Sith lightning.

He stood there clutching the tie, staring at her foolishly for another several minutes. At length, she hesitantly lifted her head to look at him. Whatever she read on his face had Santhenis immediately averting her eyes again. The sheer abnormality of her behavior shocked him into movement. Tucking the ribbon away, Aelladios took a large step back, giving the Mirialan plenty of space. He was still interested in gaining an ally – something he wouldn’t sacrifice over a few bitten fingers – but she visibly needed the distance. An apology fell from him softly, easily.

“Sorry about that. I should have told you what I was doing.”

Her gaze found its way back to his eyes instantly and he was able to see just a hint of incredulity there. Posture still hunched, shoulders painfully tight, Santhenis said, “I bit you,” in what _had_ to be the flattest voice he’d ever heard. Clearly Aelladios needed to do something to put her at ease; she was broadcasting distress into the Force loud enough for him to effortlessly sense it leaking past her shields.

Bewildering as this interaction had become, he still couldn’t understand _why_ she was so worried about retaliation over a simple bite. His “peers” on Ziost had always made a point of instigating a maiming every other week. It wasn’t like she’d attempted to murder him, unlike some other acolytes (who he wasn’t in the mood to put names to at the moment). Actually…revealing that might help.

“I’ve had worse injuries than bites,” he told her, “You could have stolen a lightsaber and stabbed me with it.”

That incident had been the closest any of his rivals had ever gotten to ending his life on Ziost, and he’d carried the mark ever since. The saber had burnt through his flesh just a scant inch above his heart and the scar looped back over his shoulder. It was a stark reminder of how nearly his opponent had succeeded. Aelladios had been laid up for weeks in the emergency med bay. No living sentient had been allowed within the reach of his blades since that first attempt almost eight years ago.

Until Santhenis had come along, of course. She stared at Aelladios, wet her lips nervously, and asked, “A lightsaber?”

“Yeah. He lifted it from one of the overseers when they weren’t paying attention. I almost died.”

Santhenis didn’t question what became of the other acolyte, but Aelladios thought their death was a given assumption. Instead she nodded to herself and slowly lowered her shoulders. He stayed where he was; no need to re-alarm her by stepping too close too soon. Then she turned her head away again, rubbing her arms, and asked, “Am…am I…ok? If I don’t stab you?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah, probably. I’ve never liked getting stabbed,” he answered, which was true. Getting stabbed – particularly the aftermath – had been terrible. He’d take electrifying bites over that any day. After a moment’s thought, he added, “I’ve never seen anyone use Sith lightning to bite someone. How’d you come up with that?”

Flushing, she looked away and mumbled, “…I just sort of…did it…” visibly embarrassed. It wasn’t bad, as far as instinctual reactions went. Personally, Aelladios thought it was unconventional and therefore could be beneficially applied in close combat. It wouldn’t be a bad idea for Santhenis to experiment with forming a solid technique from the instinct later. He told her as much in a gesture of good faith to reassure her that he didn’t resent the defensive action taken against his person. She nodded along and when she had eased herself back into standing fully upright, he suggested that they continue walking.

They came to the end of the corridor shortly, the blindingly red desert awaiting them outside the doorway. Aelladios stepped out first onto the platform, grimacing at the reflections from the unpainted metal. He turned to look at Santhenis beside him and make a wry comment about the sand – in an attempt to maintain her newly restored emotional equilibrium – but she wasn’t there. She was still behind him, hovering in the shadow of the doorway. Waiting in the chill patiently, (even though he’d promised himself to get the desert trek finished as soon as possible) he just barely caught Santhenis’ quiet mutter of, “I can’t believe this is really happening.”

Her eyes flickered to his then, the barest hint of her internal conflict showing through. He felt a short burst of sympathy; she was clearly at some sort of disadvantage compared to every other Korribanian acolyte, whether his guesses of her origin were true or not. Despite that, if he could convince her that he was necessary to her survival, she did seem to be the resilient type that would put some effort into an alliance. Aelladios would rather have an active partner than some meek underling who he would always have to manage. Santhenis could probably pull her own weight once she got used to the Academy.

He gave her a warm smile and a quiet reminder.

“We need to reach the tomb by nightfall.”

That looked like it helped the Mirialan to steel herself and join him outside. He received a soft tap on the back of his right hand as she brushed past him to the stairs. Another point in her favor: she was smart enough to realize the danger inherent in nonviolent physical contact. It was best not to prolong any sort of affection or gratitude on Korriban, particularly in open areas. Such encouragements were looked down on, since most Sith preferred carnage and subjugation over soft words and comfort.

That single grateful brush of fingers also finally allowed him a tiny glimpse at what lay past her shields. It was enough to tell him that Santhenis was brimming with power. It had stung his hand to touch her, though she clearly hadn’t been intending to harm him. No wonder the Force was screaming loud enough for even him to hear; she would be a valuable ally in the long run, if Aelladios could stay in her good graces. Santhenis was undoubtedly destined for a powerful placement in the Empire and he wouldn’t be surprised if she someday clawed her way onto the Dark Council.[22]

The idea of becoming her enemy was increasingly unpleasant.

Turning to follow her, he looked across the valley to see the sprawling upper level of Ajunta Pall’s tomb in the distance. The red sand dunes stretched on between, vast and empty. Santhenis led the way down the metal stairs to the medical droid station just past the base. While it gave them both a few standard issue kolto pouches (that were accompanied with a blandly programmed reminder to only use them for their intended purposes), Aelladios took a moment to eavesdrop on the irate lieutenant receiving treatment nearby.

“You’re in bad shape, Lieutenant,” the medic was saying mockingly, “A few grave robbers too much for you?”

Grave robbers? On _Korriban?_ That was surprising.

“They’re a special crew,” the lieutenant spat back, “Took some sort of secret passage into the tomb, around our defenses. The Sith wanted them cleared out but…too many places for them to hide in there. Underworld scum.”

By now the med droid had finished its speech and Santhenis was also listening to the two Imperials curiously. The medic clearly wasn’t taking any of the lieutenant’s excuses to heart, simply reminding him, “Best start using your eyes. If they’ve stolen anything valuable, it’ll be your head.”

The lieutenant’s face paled before it went an angry red.

“Just shut up and fix me. Bottom-feeders will be sorry they ever stepped on Korriban,” he hissed back. The thieves would definitely regret coming to Korriban, though it likely wouldn’t be because of one Force null lieutenant. Sith tombs were tricky places to navigate and survive with an intact mind, even for Force users. If the looters weren’t already raving with madness, they’d meet a grisly end from Aelladios, should they have the bad luck to chance upon him. Many of the artifacts were better left on Korriban, where they were well contained.

“Do you think we’ll run into them?” Santhenis asked him quietly, an undercurrent of anxiety slipping into her voice. He abruptly recalled that she likely wasn’t cleared for combat. In any form.

“Depends on where they’ve camped in the tomb,” he whispered back reassuringly, “If they know where the hidden passages are, we might not even see them.”

She nodded, looking a little thoughtful, and let the topic go. The lieutenant did not, still attempting to pick a fight with the medic as they walked away. For a moment before they started towards the tomb in earnest, Aelladios considered stripping off his outermost tunic and repurposing it as a headwrap. Then he decided against it. It would be less costly on his Force reserves to treat a sunburn and filter out painkillers than it would be to put extra effort into not freezing.

It was just after full sunup when they set out. The air had a distinctly cold bite to it – midday on Korriban was not promising to be much warmer than sunrise, despite the planet’s 28 hour rotation. They walked together in silence; Aelladios’ hatred of the desert enough to keep him from making idle conversation. Santhenis had already proved herself uninclined to small talk. He was irritated enough with the desert that he didn’t want to risk projecting his ire onto his companion and ruining the tentative accord they’d reached.

The red sand was loose underfoot, making their progress increasingly slower as the rough particles found their way into their shoes. Though his boots were well broken in at this point, Aelladios could feel the skin on his heels getting rubbed raw. Accursed sand getting everywhere. He imagined that Santhenis was having the same problem, judging from the way her gait had already changed to lessen the movement of her ankles. Her steps were still firm and purposeful; she was accustomed to deserts.

As it turned out, the sloping dunes also served as an excellent hiding place for k’lor’slugs. They’d been walking for two hours when Santhenis suddenly rounded on him. Belatedly, he registered the Force shrieking with danger as one wriggled its way out from under his footing. The sand slid away and he stumbled at the sudden give before lurching away from the shifting terrain. Barely keeping himself from tumbling down the dune, he didn’t quite get into a combative stance before Santhenis fried the hideous thing by throwing lightning at it.

He made up for it when a larger k’lor’slug erupted from the dune behind the Mirialan, showering her with a cloud of red sand. Santhenis curled in on herself so quickly that it had to be reflexive, covering her head defensively and completely forgoing the option of drawing her weapon. With a Force assisted leap, he made short work of the creature with his blades. It fell a ways down the dune and his companion lifted her head to inspect the bodies.

They looked nothing like slugs, despite the name – more like massive, dehydrated worms with taloned legs and faces made of teeth. Truly revolting creatures to behold. The two acolytes shared a brief nod after Santhenis stood up, and he felt like her opinion of him had gotten a little better. Hopefully he’d now sufficiently made up for accidentally triggering the biting incident earlier.

However, the instinctive cowering was an issue he wanted to address _now_ before it started causing them real problems. Spreading his presence into the Force to check for other life forms, the surrounding area came up blank. _Good_. That meant he had time to give his companion an introduction to bladework. No amount of power made up for inexperience - especially in a battle, when their lives would be on the line.

Aelladios gestured to her weapon, which had remained holstered and unused, saying, “I’m guessing you’ll want to keep that in your hand, just in case,” careful to keep his voice from sounding accusatory. She drew it reluctantly, clearly unfamiliar with a blade. He took a moment to help adjust her grip so she held the vibroblade correctly, keeping his hands slow and steady so he didn’t surprise her again. Once Santhenis’ hands were better positioned, he showed her how to execute a few basic Shii-Cho attacks and blocks.[23]

Normally, a student would start with the ready stances[24] before moving on to Form I, but Aelladios felt that their current situation called for an unorthodox first approach. There would be time to remedy the discrepancy at the Academy later. He was more than capable of giving a thorough introduction once they got the time for it.

The determined look on her face made him ache again in the _familiar-unknown_ way.

He forced himself to maintain neutral thoughts as she tried out a few test swings, but Santhenis faltered for a moment when she caught his gaze. She looked at him in much the same way as she had when they’d first run into each other that morning. Aelladios had been grappling with the impression her hair had left him with during most of that conversation. Despite his shields, the Mirialan must have somehow noticed he was struggling to keep himself involved.

She didn’t mention his handicap – which he appreciated – and he offered her a few more pointers on how to better maintain the footing of her stance while on sand. Once Santhenis was satisfied that she was moving correctly, they continued towards the gaping entrance of the tomb. They’d need to quicken their pace if they wanted to reach it by nightfall now that they’d spent precious travel time on an improvised training session.

The temperature crept up a scant few degrees as the day drew on, but it was cold enough that he had to supplement his body heat with the Force. Turning into a sad little acolyte icicle would be embarrassing, and he was passingly envious of Santhenis’ higher body temperature.[25] Whatever vein of near human he was had _not_ come equipped against cold climates the way Mirialans were.

At about noon – when they were just under halfway through the valley and the sun was at its height – Santhenis glanced over at him. And then glanced _again_. She looked a little longer this time, seemingly fascinated with something on his face. After a long silence, Aelladios almost thought he heard amusement bleed into her voice as she said, “You look very pink.”

“It’s the reflected light,” he shot back automatically, letting a scowl cross his face as he tried not to think about how easily that sentence was voiced, like he’d said it more times than he could count. The exposed skin on his face and hands prickled uncomfortably as the _familiar-unknown_ sensation teased at the corners of his mind. Quickly changing his train of thought, Aelladios moved on to internally lamenting his rare mutation. Less than one percent of the galactic population exhibited it,[26] and he’d been one of the unlucky anomalies.

The feeling receded.

In the largest display of personality that he’d yet seen, Santhenis rolled her eyes at him and said tonelessly, “You’re going to be bright red when we get to the tomb.”

Miserably, he agreed with her before letting silence resume as they kept trudging through the desert. He didn’t want to think about the blisters that were likely forming on the backs of his ears, but there was nothing to distract him except conversing with Santhenis, and he didn’t want to bother her too much. Not even fighting k’lor’slugs helped take his mind off the stinging pain, since the next four they came across were done in shortly.

Repeat encounters did not improve Aelladios’ opinion of the hideous things.

They made it to Ajunta Pall’s tomb just as the sun was setting, having run the last mile or so to escape the deadly night. Aelladios breathed a sigh of relief as the shadows surrounded them. He hated deserts. Santhenis laughed dryly at him and he gave her a halfhearted glare. Not in the mood for anything except using one of his kolto pouches on his sunburns, he pointedly ignored her humor in the face of his discomfort. As he ripped the packet open, she said almost _gleefully_ , “You’re the same color as my tunic.”

“Not for long,” he said firmly, though it was more to himself than as a response to her. He carefully burned off the painkillers into the Force as he spread the faintly green gel over his agitated skin. With the kolto’s healing attributes, the sunburn would disappear by tomorrow morning. Filtering out the painkillers from a single pack didn’t require much of his Force reserves, so it was worth it to get rid of the burns now, before his trial. It was a miracle no one had managed to murder him on Ziost while he had been disoriented from his early failed attempts to process the drugs.

Unexpectedly, Santhenis hovered nearby, waiting for him as he rubbed in the healing salve. Apparently, she’d either started liking him enough to hang around or she was plotting his death and didn’t want to lose track of him (improbable based on the biting incident). Or perhaps she didn’t want to face the looming darkness of Ajunta Pall’s tomb alone and he was the only person on Korriban that she remotely trusted.

She’d at least warmed to him a little, regardless of her intentions for staying close. As he finished with the kolto, she said, “I bet you could lift a new pouch from a failed acolyte,” the inflection of her voice nearly implying that she was teasing him.

“Or I could take one of yours and let you loot the bodies,” he retorted, keeping his tone as light as hers had hinted at being. He was having fun trying to figure out her moods now, despite how carefully shielded she kept them; he hoped she wouldn’t ruin it by trying to kill him. She huffed out a breath that wasn’t quite another laugh and then they continued down the passage together. Visibility was poor, everything shrouded in a hazy purple mist and deeply shadowed. Aelladios took the forward position this time, keeping his blades ready as they come out into a large chamber.

Before them lay a small camp, marked with an Imperial banner. There was a stacked barricade of supply crates beyond the few rows of tents set up, with a few other acolytes milling around among the Imperial soldiers. Aelladios even though he spied a Sith lord or two. In unspoken agreement, his companion and he acquired a few bottles of water and ration bars each from the encampment’s quartermaster before slipping into an empty tent, laying claim to the dusty cots and heated blankets inside.

Aelladios pulled off his boots and upended them to pour out the accumulated sand with a grimace. The pile of dirt that collected on the floor wasn’t large, but it was still a sizeable amount to have snuck into his shoes. He left the boots by the edge of his cot in favor of letting his new blisters air out and opened a ration bar.

Absentmindedly eating, he watched Santhenis remove her outer tunic to shake it out, her white undershirt far too loose for what should have been a formfitting garment. Red sand clouded into the air around her and he watched the fine grains float to the ground lazily, where they collected into a larger pile than his. That second k’lor’slug really had showered her with it heavily.

He could feel himself starting to nod off. A daylong trek, burning through a kolto high, and holding three episodes at bay had left him feeling drained. Now that they were in a relatively secure location, it was really setting in; Aelladios was exhausted. He slumped back on the cot. Santhenis sat down cross-legged on her own bed as he bundled up in one of the blankets. She gave him a look that indicated _something_ (he was too tired to puzzle it out) and said, “I’ll take first watch. You need to rest.”

Aelladios fell asleep immediately.

[1] The Sith Academy on Korriban was built by the disciples of the human Sith Lord Exar Kun, who was a former Jedi. 40 years after its completion, the Academy was looted and abandoned after Jedi Knight Revan and his compatriots killed most of the Sith here. After almost 300 years, the Sith academy was rebuilt during the Great Galactic War.

[2]The home world of the Sith race. It was abandoned by the majority of the Sith purebloods for Ziost. The religious fanatics that stayed behind were later conquered by a group of exiled Jedi who adopted the name of Sith. This new Sith Empire also left for Ziost, though the first Emperor was entombed on Korriban after his death. Since then, several other influential Sith Lords have also been buried on the desert planet. The Sith Order eventually returned and built the Academy in the Valley of the Dark Lords.

[3] An arid planet comprised of frozen mountains and forests. Ziost was publicly claimed as the home world of the Sith purebloods who migrated there from Korriban. Eventually, they were also assimilated into the Empire created by the fallen Jedi who’d conquered their Korribanian cousins. Though Ziost always remained a strong foothold of the Empire, the capitol was later moved to Dromund Kaas.

[4] Galactic Standard Years are based on Coruscant’s orbit because it is the planet nearest to the core of the galaxy. A standard year is 368 days, measured in the 24 hours that it takes Coruscant to complete a planetary rotation. Years are split into 11 months with 35 days each. The single day left over is for the annual celebration of Life Day. The current year is 10 ATC (After Treaty of Coruscant).

_*There are three festival weeks that are listed independently of the months (depending on the calendar), but there aren’t any solid canon dates for when each occurs, so I won’t be giving those weeks any significance._

_**I made up the Academy age requirement._

[5] A star system in the region of the Outer Rim that historically been controlled by the Sith Empire. Korriban is the only planet that orbits Horuset, though it is accompanied by its 7 moons and 2 separate belts of space debris.

[6] Short wavelength ultraviolet light that causes sunburns. The long wave version (UVA) causes aging in the skin.

[7] This gene provides instructions for making a protein called the melanocortin 1 receptor. It plays an important part in normal pigmentation. Aelladios’ mutation results in an inability to produce pigment – though not as severely as albinism – which results in his red hair and pale skin.

[8] A liquid known for its healing abilities, found in the waters of the planet Manaan. All attempts to synthesize kolto have resulted in failures, forcing both the Empire and the Republic to purchase their supplies from the native Selkath.

[9] The MC1R mutation affects various receptors, so redheads need about 20% more anesthesia to be sedated but require less than the average amount of analgesic medication (like opioids) for pain. An incorrect dosage can lead to waking up in the middle of a procedure or an accidental overdose.

[10] Vibroblades are knives or swords that, when ignited, vibrate and glow from being heated. They can cut through plastoid and leave behind cauterized wounds. Prolonged contact with a lightsaber will damage the weapon and they cannot deflect blasters.

_*I’m using the Clone Wars design for vibroblades instead of the designs used in The Old Republic._

[11] Ajunta Pall was a fallen human Jedi exiled from the Galactic Republic. He and his followers eventually came to Korriban, where they conquered and subjugated the Force sensitive Sith natives. Pall instated the original iteration of the modern Sith Empire and became the first Dark Lord of the Sith. It was under his rule that the Empire relocated to Ziost and added the rest of the Sith race to its ranks. After his death, his body was returned to Korriban and placed in a sprawling tomb. His Force Ghost lingered at the location until it was appeased by Jedi Knight Revan.

[12] Warblades were the chosen Sith weapon prior to the invention of lightsabers. Forged through an alchemical process and steeped in the dark side, warblades can parry lightsabers and deflect blaster bolts (when crafted correctly). The most notable quality of the warblade is that it can absorb Force lightning and discharge the electricity on the next object that has physical contact with the blade. Though they’ve fallen out of common usage, they remain formidable weapons when used correctly. If skilled enough, the wielder can even use the blade to focus and amplify their power in the Force.

_*In this work, the designs and functions of warblades will be closer to those shown in Tales of the Jedi, rather than The Old Republic._

[13] Force attuned crystals used to power lightsabers. Among the Jedi, different colored blades indicate different roles in the Order, and they use naturally grown crystals (usually from Ilum or Christophsis). Sith, with little access to Kyber deposits, typically use synthetic crystals, whose color are determined by the Force presence of the owner. Meditating on the dark side while fabricating the crystal will cause an unnatural red hue to occur, as well as generating a stronger blade that can occasionally “break” through other lightsabers. If purified, these crystals will turn white.

_*I’ve used a mix of current and Legends canon in this explanation._

[14] Carnivorous wormlike creatures with excellent eyesight and olfactory organs. They are highly venomous and aggressive. A brood k’lor’slug can lay up to 300 eggs at one time and infestations are hard to get rid of. One of the game pieces in dejarik is modelled after these creatures.

[15] A humanoid species from the planet Mirial with skin colors ranging through several shades of green, yellow, orange, and pink. They have the same standard hair colors as humans, with the addition of red, orange, and purple to the normal eye colors. Mirialans are more agile and flexible than humans, allowing them to become more skilled in martial arts. Individual status in Mirialan culture is determined by their geometrically patterned tattoos, which are bestowed after completing difficult tasks or mastering skills. Heavily tattooed Mirialans have more influence and greater opportunities. Mirialans, including those who aren’t Force sensitive, believe that individual actions create ripples through the Force, affecting their species as a whole. They refer to this basic understanding of the Force as Fate.

[16] Sith tattoos vary in design across different factions of darksiders, with the only unifying factor laying in the use of Sith pincerbugs. Indigenous to Ziost, their burning venom is used in the tattoo ink. It is extremely painful. The Sith tattoo designs used by Imperial humans at this time are a very dark red, and usually relegated to the facial area.

[17] One of the four aspects of the Force. The Unifying Force refers to space and time, usually manifesting as visions and forewarning feelings. Force users skilled in accessing this aspect are also sometimes able to see shatterpoints (where objects/traps will break, or moments in time that lead to many diverging paths).

[18] A card game (like poker) where players stake high value bets (won at the end of the game) and low value bets (won after each round). In order to win the large pot and end the game, a player must collect one of the various winning card combinations. Before their use in card games, Sabacc decks were used in divinations.

[19] Another of the four aspects of the Force. The Living Force encompasses all Force signatures that belong to living beings and the bonds that sometimes connect them. It is through this side of the Force that a user can sense the deaths of other sentients.

[20] The last of the singular aspects of the Force. The Physical Force is similar to the Living Force in the way it deals with signatures. The major difference is that it refers specifically to entities that are not alive. Common examples are Kyber crystals or locations where the Force gathers, like temples and tombs. Sometimes, there is such a strong presence of the Force that some locations become known as a nexus, though they usually only form after the deaths of powerful Force users. The Jedi Temple on Coruscant is built over one.

[21] A 28 year war that began with the Sith Empire coming out of hiding and retaking Korriban. The war ended with the Treaty of Coruscant after the Empire destroyed the Jedi Temple there. The Republic and Empire have been at a stalemate since, waging a carefully constructed cold war.

[22] A council of twelve Darths, each in charge of their own division of the Empire. The council runs the day-to-day business of the Empire and the possession of seats is highly contested among the Sith. The only individual with more authority than a councilmember is the Emperor or Empress themselves.

[23] Form I of lightsaber combat. This style was developed during the transition between metal swords and prototype lightsabers. It is considered a training form and focuses more on disarming opponents rather than killing them (though some users find it difficult to not take lethal action). This form is meant for fighting against multiple adversaries, but is not advised for regular combat use unless the practitioner has mastered Shii-Cho. Masters of this form are able to apply the techniques to single combat, but it is lacking in that area and is not the best choice for a one vs. one duel.

[24] Opening positions for lightsaber combat, most forms have their own unique stances. There are four that are not associated explicitly with one form: Jedi Ready, Defensive Neutral, Offensive Neutral, and Center of Being.

[25] There is no mention in canon of species from ice planets having higher body temperatures. This is my interpretation of evolutionary benefits species like Mirialans or Chiss would have developed in exposure to their environments.

[26] Current global population is between 1% and 2%. When taking into account all of the alien species present in Star Wars – many of them hairless – that percentage would realistically be lower across the galaxy. Statistically, there would be more Force users than redheads (though not by much), since high sensitivity can manifest in any species, unlike a gene that affects hair color. From this logic, it is presumable that redheads are highly sought after in the slave market as “exotic wares,” similarly to how Force users are trafficked. Based on that inference, a redheaded Force sensitive is worth even more.

_*The desirability of redheads as slaves is largely fanon._


	2. The One Where Arkosua Dyes His Hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arkosua has finally left his home planet for the first time in his life, on a mission for Imperial Intelligence. He lands on Nar Shaddaa for a meeting with another undercover agent to obtain new black market credentials. While in the Promenade’s bazaar, he spontaneously takes some extra steps that will help him blend into the background.
> 
> Warnings: harassment, mentions of drug abuse, sexual assault,* blood, partial nudity
> 
> *This is referring to close contact dancing that was not consented to. It’s mentioned in the paragraph that starts with: In cantina #3…

_Nar Shaddaa, 10 ATC – Arkosua_

The air hung close about the cargo bay. Warm – despite the cold expanse of space just outside the hull. At least twenty sentients were crammed into the small area, by Arkosua’s count, lending to the unusually high temperature. And the pungent smell. By a massive margin, he was the cleanest person in the room; all the other passengers were covered in some level of grime. He wrinkled his nose in disgust.

He'd been squished into an overcrowded cargo bay, surrounded by the filthiest sentients he’d ever had the displeasure of mingling with. Close quarter seating – if this arrangement could even be called that – was officially the _worst_ and his sojourn hadn’t done anything to improve his opinion on it. The moment the opportunity arose, he was going to roast himself alive in a shower. One with real water. If Mother ever caught wind of this, she’d have him stuck in a kolto tank[1] for a solid week before even standing in the same room as him. A full-on detox wasn’t an option for him right now though, so the shower would have to suffice.

Cramming into a shuttle with over a dozen other sentients was _not_ Arkosua’s idea of a fun time. Unfortunately for him, an overcrowded transport of questionable legality was the most common way for newcomers to arrive on the Smuggler’s Moon.[2] The floor was covered in mysterious sediments from unknown and potentially toxic locales. He was pointedly not lingering on whatever filth was undoubtedly transferring from the seating to his pants. The thought of all the diseases getting carted around in this shuttle made him shudder.

On top of the unideal conditions, touching other sentients made his skin crawl. Arkosua regretted the loss of any semblance of personal space, but the sacrifice had been necessary to get himself into the Y’Toub system[3] with as little notice as possible. He pulled his knees closer to his chest. Successfully scrambling his trail was pale consolation for this transport. At least anyone who came looking for him would only find a frustrating series of dead ends instead of him.

As one of the last passengers to board, Arkosua had received the _wonderful_ privilege of sitting next to a Rodian[4] that smelled like they’d taken a nap on a carcass. A week old carcass at that. Looking back, it was no wonder why the seating near them had remained unoccupied. He’d been too relieved that there had still been open spots and he hadn’t even registered the stench till he’d sat down.

After that, it had been too late to move to a different chair; all the other seats had quickly been taken. Now he was stuck next to the Rodian until their scheduled landing on Nar Shaddaa.[5] The reeking individual thankfully hadn’t tried to talk to him, quietly sitting in their seat instead. Arkosua was appeased enough that they had the manners to pretend they didn’t exist. They were so unobtrusive that he’d been able to relegate their stench to the background. Honestly, when someone smelled _that_ bad, it was only polite to behave as inoffensively as possible.

“So, what are your plans for Nar Shaddaa, sweet thing?” the Nautolan[6] to his left asked (again), leaning into his space. Arkosua wished the Rodian’s standard of conduct could instantly be imparted to the semiaquatic alien. They clearly didn’t know when to take a clue and shut up. It was all _“gorgeous”_ this and _“darling”_ that from the moment the shuttle had taken off. The entire flight so far had been full of their shallow compliments and no less than seventeen terrible pickup lines.

Curling up had been a mistake and only made him look more vulnerable. He’d just been trying to maintain an appropriate distance from the Nautolan – and the germs on the floor – but the flirtations had instantly gotten more heavy-handed. They put a hand on his knee. Arkosua pinched the skin on the back of the offensive appendage as painfully as he could. The hand was removed with a quiet yelp, but they scooted closer regardless. He couldn’t move away without rudely pressing himself further into the Rodian’s space.

Arkosua fervently _hated_ close quarter seating.

_Six times._ That’s how many times Arkosua had needed to talk himself out of removing the Nautolan’s offending tongue (or hand) so far. The only reason he hadn’t was because the last thing he needed was to be arrested for dismemberment before he’d even started working. What a horrifically embarrassing way to end his first official mission for Imperial Intelligence,[7] no doubt. Becoming a cautionary tale to future agents was not a commendable accomplishment in any sense. _That_ “achievement” belonged to the list of embarrassments to avoid at all costs.

Getting caught was already an operational risk without bringing his occasionally volatile temper into the mix. With fair hair – especially by Chiss[8] standards – his appearance was far too striking to risk public violent behavior. Drawing that kind of attention would only add to the obstacles he’d face during this assignment. He didn’t want to incur unnecessary troubles on this mission by having to worry about word of his exploits spreading. His employers preferred it when their operatives faded into the background and were forgotten.

Imperial Intelligence was already making a rather uncommon exception by even considering him for an op – and a far rarer one by actually _assigning_ him to one. It wasn’t often that aliens were given the opportunity to prove themselves to the Empire in such a capacity. _Especially_ if they had a rare coloring by their people’s standards. So far, he’d only seen aliens employed as Informers[9] for humans (the favored species employed as Ciphers).[10] Arkosua must have impressed someone influential with his demo op results, since he’d been handed a live field assignment.

Importantly to him (but not to the Empire) this was also his first _real_ foray into the larger galaxy. Growing up on Csilla[11] had been nice…but stifling. He’d spent his whole life dreaming of freely travelling between star systems, despite being told it was taboo every time he brought it up. The isolationist policy of their government had only offered him limited opportunities to satisfy that longing. As in Hoth;[12] the only approved destination.

He’d had to settle for watching the night skies. Waiting. Hoping.

After he’d completed multiple degrees in engineering (and one in astronomy), it had occurred to Arkosua that applying to the Imperial training facility offered a better opportunity see more of the galaxy. That pathway provided better results than continuing to beg the Ascendancy[13] to approve his exploration plans and provide him with a grant. Even if his Imperial career only resulted in getting assigned to an observatory position. Which was still a possibility if he didn’t execute this mission perfectly.

It had taken another two years after getting accepted for him to receive an opportunity to travel offworld. All of his excitement to finally be abroad was heavily counterbalanced by the nerve-wracking pressure of his first solo mission. All of his previous ops had been virtual simulations, which could only assess his suitability to a certain extent and were nothing like real missions. This op was the final test of his training. He _wanted_ to prove himself to his handlers, but the Nautolan sitting next to him was making it _incredibly_ difficult to refrain from murder.

It would be so _easy_ to gut them.

Attempting to tune out his “admirer,” he ran through his mental itinerary for Nar Shaddaa. Running through his lists had always helped him feel more settled. He needed settling right now. It was also a better activity than compiling exploration notes on his datapad. Those observations were to be private until Arkosua could submit them for peer review; he didn’t want the other alien lurking over his shoulder, reading them.

Step 1: Disembark without being followed.

Step 2: Locate the bazaar on the Promenade.[14]

Step 3: Signal one of the Empire’s undercover Fixers.[15]

Step 4: Activate the scrambler for his ID chip.

Step 5: Book passage on a shuttle to Nal Hutta.[16]

The steps that worried him the most were those involving the slicer.[17] If they didn’t do their job correctly, the scrambler would malfunction and tip off the local security. He’d be discovered and detained before he’d be able to get out of the Hutt’s spaceport. Then it would only be a matter of time before the local crime lord had him tortured and killed. Or the Empire sent an assassin after him to cover their tracks.

Neither were ideal outcomes, as they both involved his death.

Despite being completely out of his control, getting his cover blown by bad chip credentials was a fear that had plagued Arkosua endlessly since the start of his training. He hated things that he couldn’t control. Even with all those engineering degrees, he still wasn’t the best at slicing; if he wanted to hack into a system, relying on someone else’s program was the fastest way to get it done. It was actually _easier_ for him to build a console than to hack one. He’d rather just fry the electronics with an EMP, but that wasn’t conducive to gathering intel.

If Mother knew he was fretting about things outside his sphere of influence again, she wouldn’t hesitate to scold him. She meant well, but…her pointed reminders didn’t solve the issue. He still suffered the occasional anxious fit if he didn’t pull himself out of the spirals. The lists did help, even if he’d started to rely on them increasingly through his training.

_Focus_. If the chip failed, he’d just need a new set of steps. A sub-list of sorts.

Step 1: Obtain weapon from nearest guard.

Step 2: Take out all nearby hired thugs with new weapon.

Step 3: Use misdirection techniques to blend into crowd.

Step 4: Exit spaceport; eliminate more guards as needed.

Step 5: Establish base in an abandoned building and contact Imperial Intelligence for extraction.

Step 5.1: Kiss all his hopes and dreams goodbye.

Step 6: Steal a ship and escape before Intelligence can assassinate him.

Meticulous planning was one of the few ways he could effectively combat his overwhelming need to be in control of all the variables…but it had become almost obsessive now that he was going into live field ops. He couldn’t sleep restfully anymore, not without running through at least twelve different backup plans first. Not the healthiest way to handle his anxieties, but it was better than what he’d seen others do to cope. In Arkosua’s firm opinion, wasting away from an addiction to spice[18] was not the way he wanted to go out.

Speakers popped overhead and a crackly voice burst over the ship’s intercom, announcing that they’d made atmo on Nar Shaddaa. Unloading was to begin the moment the ship touched down. _Stars above_ , was he glad to hear that. The stench from the Rodian had started getting to him despite his efforts to put it out of mind. Arkosua didn’t fancy being queasy for the start of his debuting op. Foul smells had always made him a little nauseous. He’d be out and in the open air of the Smuggler’s Moon soon enough, though he doubted it would be much more breathable. It would be enough for him if it just smelled better.

Shuddering, the shuttle touched down and lowered the cargo ramp with a loud hiss. He quickly checked his belongings as he stood; both his comm and burner currency chip (loaded with wupiupi[19] instead of Imperial credits) were still on his person. _Good_. He’d be in a tight spot if he lost either and chasing down thieves was another surefire way to be memorable. Bystanders tended to remember people who could dispatch someone with a single vibroknife.

…which happened to be the only weapon he had on his person, tucked away inside his right boot.

Keeping to the middle of the group, he took advantage of his unusually slim stature, using the taller sentients surrounding him to keep out of sight. It also obscured him from whatever hangar holocams that might be online. If none of the hangar’s employees saw him clearly, they wouldn’t be able to tell anyone that he’d been there, effectively erasing the record of his arrival.

There was no need to worry about the shuttle’s passenger list; it didn’t have one. He’d specifically chosen that ship because they hauled illegal spices and didn’t ask questions (or keep records of who hitched a ride on their ship). It was the only redeeming quality in most spice runners. If it weren’t for their lackadaisical stance on shuttling sentients, he’d never have set foot on any ship belonging to such abhorrent individuals.

Once he was out into the main spaceport, losing himself in the foot traffic was child’s play. The amorous Nautolan tried to follow him at first, calling out, “Hey, darling, wait!” after he initially split off from the main group. Arkosua slipped his way through several streams of commuters and a pop-up shop selling hats, successfully removing himself from their line of sight in moments. He peeked around a snack bar to see them standing alone and confused among the crowds, looking around in circles.

He allowed himself a moment to relax and reorient before moving on. Taking care to stay out of view of the spaceport holocams – which would definitely be active – the newly minted agent made his way out of the building. Hailing a taxi speeder was simple; there were several hundred swarming the station. Once strapped in, he took a moment to take in the moon as the taxi pulled away from the spaceport.

The air was weighted with the smell of smoke and pollution, a yellowy haze settling between the skyscrapers. Luminescent signs and advertisements glowed through the haze. Past the smog and twinkling city lights, the sky was filled with a stunning view of Nal Hutta, illuminated by the light of Y’Toub. It was morning there, the green and golden surface contrasting with the shadows wreathing the dark side of Nar Shaddaa; they hung closely about even with the brilliance of the nearby planet.

The vehicle pulled up to the Promenade and the driver sped off with a new passenger almost before he’d paid them. It was a jarring difference from how politely the taxis were run on Csilla. _Oh well_. He turned around to assess his new surroundings. The landing pad was heavily crowded and lined with holographic projections of various flora. The throng could be hiding any number of Republic operatives who might follow him. If someone tailed him to the other undercover agent, they’d both be listed for termination: _effective immediately_ , no questions asked.

Maybe Step 3 needed some sub-steps.

Step 3.1: Blend into Promenade foot traffic.

Step 3.2: Begin unclear route to the bazaar; double back to lose tails.

Step 3.3: Enter bazaar and window shop until Fixer is located.

Step 3.3.1: Purchase disguise?

He made a point of disappearing into the crowds again – careful not to deviate too much from the flow of traffic and draw eyes that way – purposefully not following the signs leading to the bazaar. Instead, he skipped his way through about twenty cantinas and made sure to always exit from a different door than he entered. The entire time he plotted his elusive trail through the Promenade, concern about his abnormal hair color dogged his steps.

Pale blue hair wasn’t a great color for a secret agent, given how rare it occurred naturally. Even if he lost his currently hypothetical tail, it would be a simple matter to locate him again with such a remarkable and eye-catching shade. Once he was confident that he didn’t have anyone following him, Arkosua slipped between a few real potted plants and wove his way through one of the many casinos, turning back towards the bazaar.

The plaza was packed when he found it, lined with all manner of stalls and vendors hawking their wares. No one would notice an Imperial slicer in this mess. It was a good hiding place. Browsing idly, he took a few pauses in his presumed window shopping to ask questions about different products. Acting the part of interested consumer allowed his slow search for the fellow agent to go unnoticed.

He found the slicer near the center of the market, selling specialty comm units as her cover. Her loudly colored advertisement flier conveniently said they did maintenance on units as well, though it was listed for an obscene price in bolded Trade Huttese. Arkosua almost snorted out a laugh. Even the most expensive technicians on Csilla wouldn’t charge that much, simply out of instilled honor.

Posing as an interested customer, Arkosua passed the slicer his standard issue comm. She checked the serial number and pulled out a separate programming unit from under her counter, plugging it into the comm. She was likely uploading the code to contact his handler, in addition to updating the software and security.

When she returned the updated comm and his currency chip, he found an ID scrambler tucked between them. It looked like a recent model, encased in a transparent slip of sticky plasteel that should alter its color to match his skin. All he had to do was apply the patch over his implant and it would activate, masking his credentials with a black-market code. He hoped the coding would hold up when it came time for the security sweeps.

On his way out of the bazaar, a particularly enthusiastic hawker caught his attention. They were selling beauty products and hair dyes, some of which were in natural Chiss colorings. The prices listed here much lower than those the other stalls boasted. Usually that meant inferior quality or ill-gotten goods, but he _was_ on a mission budget and couldn’t exactly afford the other vendors’ wares.

Thoughtfully, a hand went to his pale hair. Anyone with decent knowledge of Chiss culture would know the significance of the color. Not many of his people had light hair. It was in his best interest to change it, as paining as that thought was. The uncommon shade was far too noticeable and inherently put the interests of his employers at risk.

Mother was going to kill him when she found out.

He bought a few cases of vibrant blue dye, as well as a few eyebrow pencils and mascara wands in a slightly darker color. A blue-gray foundation to cover his freckles had been considered as well, but it was too expensive for his current funds; his skin color wasn’t a common market demand and was therefore marked at a higher price than the others. The freckles would have to stay visible.

Besides, Nal Hutta was warm and he’d likely sweat it off in minutes. A good cosmetic sealant to prevent runoff wasn’t affordable enough for him to shell out on either. With an unknown duration for his mission, he’d bought more than he thought he’d need of both dye and makeup. That left him with just enough for a ride planetside. Tight mission budget indeed.

Now he needed to commandeer a fresher. One of the many cantinas would do, but he specifically needed one that had single stall bathrooms and – more importantly – wouldn’t bat an eye at alien clientele. Fortunately, most cantinas on Nar Shaddaa had permanently open dance floors and he already knew which ones were openminded with their customers (courtesy of his earlier jaunt through them).

Arkosua began making his way through the establishments nearest the Promenade, intent on choosing partners at random before he’d scope out the freshers. It was a good thing he wasn’t opposed to any of the many genders displayed throughout the galaxy. If he could swallow down his hatred of touching strangers, every cantina was overflowing with appealing partners.

The most appreciated dancefloor participants were the few who were more than willing to stay silent as he did reconnaissance. He didn’t like distractions and the lack of conversation made him far more inclined to think generously of them. Most of his fellow dancers felt the annoying need to chat him up, trying to flatter their way into a lurid affair. He did not take kindly to their offers; he was only there to scope out the freshers, not dally with the locals. Besides, the kind of physical activity they wanted from him wasn’t one he often felt inclined to.

In cantina #3, he accidentally happened upon the annoying Nautolan from the spice freighter. He’d been trying to move his way across the dance floor to get a closer look at the restrooms and heard, “There you are, _darling!”_ just behind him. Wheeling around, he had no chance to escape before they’d immediately latched onto him, grinding their hips against his in a horrendous farce of a dance. Arkosua – caught off guard – scrabbled viciously against them, digging his nails into the Nautolan’s bare arms and drawing blood.

A spectacularly tall Togruta[20] woman swept over to his rescue without a word before he could decide on how he’d like to commit an impromptu murder. Arkosua had noticed the carnivore prowling the edges of the dance floor earlier, keeping an eye out for individuals pressing unwanted advances on other dancers. She pried the Nautolan away and held them off the floor by their collar. With a deceivingly pleasant smile, the Togruta removed them from the premises and immediately became Arkosua’s favorite person on Nar Shaddaa. The Nautolan was the second creep she’d cockblocked since he’d entered.

With a nod of acknowledgment, he allowed the bouncer to return to her patrol. Her gaze kept jumping back to him from where she lingered on the edge of the dance floor. While her concern wasn’t unappreciated, he didn’t like being someone’s mark. Arkosua much preferred to fill the role of hunter himself.

A few more dances and then he’d leave.

The lighting on the dance floor shifted halfway through the next song and the Togruta found another victim to save. With her attention conveniently drawn elsewhere, he seized the opportunity to slip out the side door a moment later. The Nautolan was nowhere in sight. _Good._ Time to continue his search.

He finally located a suitable fresher in the fifth cantina and locked himself inside. Arkosua took one last look at himself in the mirror as he scrubbed the Nautolan’s blood off his hands. The pale pearlescent blue of his hair had set him apart as a beauty among his people. The color mirrored the ice of Csilla, and its rarity heightened the cultural appeal. Mother had been delighted that he’d been born with such fine hair, setting him distinctly apart from the other moderately affluent Chiss children.

_“It marks you for a great future,”_ she’d always said. Mother had often taken comfort in those words. Imperial Intelligence hadn’t quite been what she’d had in mind for him though. He still wasn’t sure if she was disappointed in him for consigning his future to the Sith Empire.

_Better get this over with._

He removed his shirt and hung it on a hook in the wall. Pulling out the scrambler, Arkosua peeled back the protective layer and carefully pressed it over the implant in his left shoulder. A light blinked through the clear plasteel[21] before it pixelated and mimicked his skin tone, freckles and all. The device should stay on indefinitely, powered by the warmth of his skin.

He opened one of the boxes next and pulled on the single use gloves before getting out the dye, mixing the chemicals thoroughly. Making sure to apply it evenly, his pale hair was stained a classic medium blue, the same color he distantly remembered his father having. The only thing he could recall about the man, actually.

When he finished, a mostly average Chiss stared back at him. His face looked more like a skull thanks to the terrible quality of the lighting fixture. The azure blue looked _wrong_ to his eyes, but he reminded himself that his pride was less important than the mission. He just hadn’t realized how much he liked the original shade till it was gone. He could no longer be considered beautiful by the standards of his people, which hurt more acutely than he’d expected it to.

Arkosua wasn’t above admitting he was vain; it was a trait Mother had allowed him to indulge in as a child and he’d never shaken it.

The almost white brows and lashes stood out horribly now that he had hair in a normal shade. Purchasing makeup in a similar color had been a good decision; it would be obvious that his hair was dyed without it.

Someone knocked on the fresher door. He ignored them. It would only take a few more minutes to darken what remained of his natural coloring. As soon as he was satisfied that there wasn’t any pale blue peeking through his application, he tucked the remaining dye packets and cosmetics into his belt and pulled his shirt back on before allowing one last check in the mirror.

He _hated_ it.

A human frantically rushed into the fresher the moment he opened the door, shoving him out. _Rude._ The occupants of a nearby table laughed at the altercation – to his annoyance – but he didn’t turn to address their derision. As much as he wanted to blow off some steam, it had already been a long day and he’d be better off avoiding confrontations. His split-second decision-making skills were already pressed thin with aggression as it was.

Straightening the hem of his shirt, he mingled with the crowd dancing, reminding himself that murder was only condoned on the job if absolutely necessary. He needed to get to Nal Hutta soon and delays would _not_ be forgiven easily. Especially if his handlers found out he had been wasting time dancing. Or gotten into a brawl.

_Work first, fight later._

[1] A canister that is filled with a solution of kolto, which can be adjusted to custom levels. Patients are hooked up to a breathing apparatus and submerged inside for treatment.

[2] A nickname for the moon called Nar Shaddaa, which is one of five that orbit Nal Hutta.

[3] A star system in the center of Hutt Space. Four out of the six planets are habitable.

[4] Green-skinned reptilian humanoids from the planet Rodia. Most Rodians travel abroad in the galaxy as bounty hunters or henchmen, and they are known for having a violent culture on their home world. Rodians are identified by their large and multifaceted eyes, tapir shaped snouts, and short rounded antennae. Their hands have fingers ending in suction cups, allowing them to cling to textured surfaces. They can detect vibrations, have an enhanced sense of smell, and can see on the infrared spectrum. Though they can grow hair, most male Rodians keep it shaved, allowing the spines on their heads to take precedence in their appearance. Some female Rodians also shave their hair in order to disguise themselves as men. Most notably, Rodians excrete a pheromone to attract mates, which most other species find repugnant.

[5] The largest moon of Nal Hutta, another of its nicknames is Little Coruscant (due to the sprawling cityscape that covers the moon’s entire surface). Unlike Coruscant, which is only crime ridden in the lower levels, Nar Shaddaa displays blatant corruption and filth on all levels.

[6] An amphibious humanoid species from Glee Anselm. Usually with skin in shades of blue, brown, green, and red, Nautolans have fourteen extrasensory tendrils on their heads. They also have large black eyes that see well in dim lighting. Bony endoskeletons and sturdy cartilage make them more resilient in combat than other species. Unlike other aquatic species, they are also able to breathe underwater without experiencing difficulties when on dry land. Interestingly, Nautolan head tendrils enhance the species’ ability to smell and sense pheromones. They can even be used to determine the emotional state of other sentients, though they function best when submerged in water. They are one of the few non Twi-lek species that can learn to read lekku.

[7] The Empire’s primary intelligence organization, which far outstrips their Republic counterpart in both skill and effectiveness. Headed by the Minister of Intelligence, they currently answer to Darth Jadus on the Dark Council.

[8] Chiss are a near-human race that calls the planet Csilla home. Genetic analysis has led to the conclusion that the Chiss were once human but evolved due to the conditions of life on Csilla. As a result, Chiss have glowing red eyes and are – on average – taller than humans. Their blue skin is caused by exposure to glacial minerals. The vibrancy of their skin and eyes are determined by the oxygen content of the atmosphere. Commonly, Chiss have black hair, though some experience graying as they age. Lighter hair is seen as an indication of siring exceptional children. Chiss reach physical maturity in half the time that humans do. They are full grown at ten, after a series of rapid growth spurts. They also generally reach mental and emotional maturity at the same time.

_*Oxygen content effects will not be applied in this story._

[9] Intelligence operatives who report back information and function as a point of contact for field agents. Often assigned to a permanent location to observe enemy activity.

[10] Operatives for Imperial Intelligence that have a range of skills from infiltration and assassination to seduction and sabotage. They are adept with a variety of weapons and are Intelligence’s main attack force.

[11] A frozen world with glaciers and excessive snow. It is the capitol of the Chiss Ascendency. Cities are kept warm using heat from the planet’s core. The largest city is called Csaplar.

[12] A glacial planet covered by a frozen ocean and the occasional volcanic fissure. It has a sparse population of wildlife and is home to a massive graveyard of starships from the Great Galactic War. The Republic lost several prototype ships in their defeat above Hoth.

[13] The Chiss Ascendancy is as an oligarchy located just inside the Unknown Regions. There are four clans known as the Ruling Families who produce government leaders called Aristocra. There are also five smaller clans that vie for power and increased influence in similar positions. In addition to the Aristocra, there is a parliament consisting of elected representatives from each of the colonies. Despite their isolationism, the Ascendancy was the Sith Empire’s only ally during the Great Galactic War, and they have maintained that alliance during the cold war.

[14] The most “legitimate” commercial district on Nar Shaddaa. Every Hutt clan is obligated to contribute to the area’s security, since the Promenade belongs to the Hutt Cartel as a whole.

[15] Technically minded Intelligence agents, with an aptitude for slicing and engineering. Usually process data from Intelligence’s base located on Dromund Kaas, rather than in the field, but they can be deployed if necessary.

[16] Nal Hutta is the current “home world” of the Hutts. Originally, it was known as Evocar and boasted dense jungles and massive oceans. The Hutts enslaved the local Evocii and renamed the planet when they arrived. It was terraformed into a toxic swampland.

[17] A computer expert. Most freelance slicers are self-taught, but all are proficient in programming and hacking.

[18] Slang for mind-altering substances. While some can be used for medicinal purposes, most spices are sought out for recreational use. Addicts are usually referred to with the derogatory term “spicehead.”

[19] A unit of currency used in Hutt Space, both virtually and physically (as metal coins). It’s worth about 0.625 of a Galactic or Imperial credit.

[20] A carnivorous humanoid species from the planet Shili. They are easily identified by their montrals (a set of hollow horns) and three headtails, which look like an elaborate headdress. Their skin and eye colors present in a wide variety, but most also have some sort of white striping and facial patterns that serve as camouflage. Togruta use their montrals to detect movement and space ultrasonically, though it only becomes fully developed once they reach adulthood. The montrals and rear headtails of adolescent Togruta limit this ability because they are not full grown. A common misconception about Togruta is that they are venomous. This false information originates in the post-mortem convulsions of their prey, which are caused by the placement of the bites rather than venom. Togruta do nothing to dispel the rumor and actively capitulate on it to intimidate their enemies.

[21] A material that combines acrylic polymers with metal alloys, resulting in a flexible and heat resistant compound that has a variety of uses. Most lightweight armor is made from plasteel but those sets are better suited for hand to hand combat than a firefight. When pressed into thin plates, it can easily be punctured by a blaster bolt or slug.


	3. The One Where Nicaeth Saves Some Padawans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having proven himself to the Jedi Order, Nicaeth has arrived on Tython to complete his final trials. Almost as soon as he lands at the Masters’ Retreat, the Gnarls are overrun in an unexpected attack. The danger the Flesh Raiders present to the unprepared padawans has the Jedi sending him into the field to defend his fellow students.
> 
> Warnings: facial disfiguration,* violence, deaths
> 
> *This is referring to a characteristic of the Miraluka race, who do not have eyes but retain orbital cavities. If that bothers you, it's only mentioned in the paragraph starting with: One of them, shrouded in a bold cobalt...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Corresponds with Jedi Knight: Attack of the Flesh Raiders

_Tython, 10 ATC – Nicaeth_

The shuttle was mostly dark and silent in the Force, save for the soft white rumbling of the engines. He had seated himself closer to the soothing constancy of the turbines than to the cockpit. The pilot’s weak green presence was unregulated enough that Nicaeth needed the background noise to help him focus on his meditation. His path forward required deeper study, though he was still certain the Jedi Order needed him. The future could direct him to multiple destinations – even within their organization – and he wanted to choose the one that made best use of his talents.

The path of a Shadow[1] he dismissed almost out of hand. His time with the Luka Sene[2] had not prepared him for such forays so near to the dark side of the Force. Most of his education in manipulating the Force had been to augment his senses; like all Miraluka,[3] he could not see without its aid. It was only after his application to the Jedi Order that he’d even learnt to use the Force in other ways. So no, a Shadow’s path would not suit him or his abilities well.

Likewise, taking a position as a Sentinel[4] was also quickly turned away from. As honorable as defending temples and padawans could be, Nicaeth hadn’t ever picked up a blade before he’d started learning lightsaber forms last year. His teachers all encouraged his rapid progress – praising him as a natural – but he didn’t have anything close to the repertoire expected of aspiring Sentinels. Their education focused almost solely on their weapons and how to use them. His studies had been almost completely the opposite; a shame, since he thought he might have liked such an assignment.

In that vein of thought, his current skill set was disproportionately in favor of a Consular[5] posting. Granted, his education wasn’t traditional – in a Jedi sense – but it was still a study of the Force. He’d passed the healing tests they’d set before him (though not with exceptional scores), but he had the makings of a good mediator. With his unique Force sight, Nicaeth could see when a sentient’s emotional state shifted; a handy skill to have in negotiations. Diplomacy was a viable path forward, but it was not the one he currently favored.

That left the Guardians.[6] The _Guardians._ If Nicaeth could hone his combat skills just a _little_ more, he could openly consider that path. His teachers on Chandrila[7] had eagerly encouraged him when he’d admitted his admiration of one of the Order’s most well-known: Master Orgus Din, on the High Council.[8] Their faith in him – and his almost unprecedented affinity for Ataru[9] – bolstered his confidence. He felt he had a good enough chance to be allowed to join the Guardians once he was knighted.

And well, the Consulars would take him if he wasn’t permitted into the Guardians’ ranks.

It had been almost a year since Nicaeth had left Alpheridies[10] to join the Jedi Order. His experience with the Luka Sene had him on an equivalent level to most other padawans his age. It stood to reason that the intermediary year had rounded out his knowledge enough for him to face the trials of knighthood. Once he was formally assigned a master to oversee them, then the final test of his training would commence.

The thought of earning his place serving the Republic excited him more than anything at home ever had.

Now he had been sent to Tython[11] to stand before the Council. The white pulsing of the engines dimmed as the shuttle landed, powering down. Nicaeth slipped from his meditation back to the waking world as the sound faded. The rear door of the shuttle opened, and he stepped outside. The planet hummed around him, wreathed in greens and pale violets in the Force. He could feel the pulses of each Jedi’s Force presence in the retreat, a broad range of blues and greens.

One of them, shrouded in a bold cobalt, was approaching him from the other side of the sensory dead zone that was the durasteel landing pad. The advancing knight didn’t feel like one of his Miraluka siblings. Nicaeth checked the synthleather[12] mask covering his empty eye sockets. It was correctly in place, hiding what he knew most sentients found to be an unsettling sight; he’d never liked the yellowed tint that always stained signatures when his mask slipped.

“Welcome to Tython, Padawan,” the Jedi said as they came to a stop, voice marking them as male. Nicaeth’s initial nerves subsided when the blue of his signature didn’t waver. Though he knew the mask was in place, the confirmation of an unchanged color always did more to set him at ease. That distinct yellow fear always made his stomach turn with guilt, as though he had any control over his genetic characteristics.

“Everyone at the temple is looking forward to meeting you,” his new guide continued, “Your former Masters praise your combat skills. They say you’re becoming an expert duelist.”

“They have taught me well,” Nicaeth answered honestly, “It was easy to learn their lessons.”

He had been an eager student with eager teachers; there was no purpose to hiding such information. The Jedi’s signature brightened, the cobalt becoming more intense, and he beckoned for Nicaeth to follow him. They walked up a short incline to the main structure, which he hadn’t been expecting and almost slipped on. The padawan usually had much better awareness of his surroundings than this; he chalked it up to his excitement making him a little hastier than he normally was.

The blue presence of the other Jedi was strong enough to outline an otherwise invisible doorway for him. The padawan was able to follow him inside without embarrassing himself by knocking into the frame. It had happened more than once during field trips on Chandrila, much to his embarrassment and his peers’ amusement. Inside, the room was partially lit with the soft white whirring glow of a holocomputer,[13] meshing quietly with stronger cobalt blue of the Jedi’s signature. The room was small enough that the subtle lighting revealed several chairs that he might have stumbled into. Nicaeth moved to the center of the empty floor.

“The Jedi Council will assign you a new Master to oversee your final trials,” his guide announced, “You’ll be tested in ways you can’t imagine. But when you leave Tython, you’ll know what it means to be a Jedi Knight. More importantly, you’ll know yourself.”

Nicaeth smiled. Just what he wanted. Eagerly, he said, “I look forward to meeting my new teacher.”

“There’s a speeder here that will take you – hang on,” the other Jedi paused, pulling a flashing comm unit from his belt. The small device was beeping audibly, white light pulsing louder with each repetition. Now Nicaeth could see yellow creep into his cobalt Force presence, but in the shade of concern rather than fear.

“Getting an emergency signal,” the Jedi said, accepting the call. The projection of a Bith[14] in padawan robes appeared above the device. The small projection was a white even fainter than the glow from the terminal. As they began speaking in their native language, the entire comm device tinged a fearful yellow.

_“– under attack, repeat, under attack! Flesh Raiders **[15]** are invading the Padawan training grounds! They have blasters! Send help!”_

The call shorted out from the padawan’s end, blasterfire echoing through the speakers. The glow around the comm faded as the device dropped from the active call network. For a moment, there was silence. Then the other Jedi’s blue presence clouded orange in confusion as he muttered, “Flesh Raiders, armed with blasters? He must be mistaken.”

He hadn’t heard of Flesh Raiders before. Were they native to Tython? How sentient were these Flesh Raiders?

_No,_ now was not the time for questions about the local fauna. Whatever had happened, it was enough to frighten that other padawan to the point that he’d been able to see their terror seeping through the projection of the comm call. Frowning, Nicaeth asked, “He was afraid. Is that not enough reason to send help?”

Running a hand through his hair – signature blurring further into orange – the other Jedi murmured, “They’ve never come this close before…”

He mulled about in his confusion for a moment before shaking his head. Signature slowly drifting back into blue, the other Jedi turned to the holocomputer and began typing away urgently. He spoke again, more confidently, this time addressing Nicaeth.

“Flesh Raiders are a species of hostile natives,” he explained, “They’re smart enough to use tools and violent beyond reason. I’m sending every able-bodied Jedi down to the Padawan training grounds right away – especially you.”

Surprise rippled through Nicaeth. Unlike some of the padawans already on Tython, he was somewhat more familiar with combat than the standard student…but he surely couldn’t be _that_ much more proficient than his peers, could he? One of his teachers surely would have mentioned it to him.

Or maybe not, apparently.

Despite the minor shock, now wasn’t the time to be dwelling on such praise; not when people were in danger. Nodding with more surety than he felt, he said, “I’ll go there immediately.”

The other Jedi looked over his shoulder briefly at Nicaeth and instructed, “Take the speeder outside to the training grounds. Push back the Flesh Raiders – find out if they’re really using advanced weapons.”

Spinning on his heel, he stepped towards the door. This time, he could see the glow of the planet through the doorway instead of the chunk of black nothingness he’d seen before entering the building. Already halfway out of the room, Nicaeth heard the other Jedi call after him, “Go. I’ll catch up after I alert the Jedi Council. May the Force be with you.”

For all his bravado leaving the room, Nicaeth had little idea of the dimensions of the Masters’ Retreat – aside from the presences he could feel scattered across the blank building. A few droids, humming softly in white were interspersed between the brighter signatures. Taking a few deep breaths, he focused on his feet. He was standing on a metal platform. Tapping his toe, he tracked the vibrations that spread out in waves across the floor. In front of him, it echoed back about a hundred feet away. He also discovered that the retreat stretched further to his left than it did to the right, where he knew the landing pads were located.

Nicaeth advanced across the floor briskly, keeping careful track of where the vibrations bounced to return to him. He made it halfway across the platform before getting distracted while passing two nearby signatures. Both green, but one was quickly veering into a worrying shade of yellow. Pausing nearby for a moment out of concern, he heard the yellowish Jedi say, “I am afraid the Gnarls[16] are no longer an ideal place for Padawans.”

That must be the local name for the region where the training grounds were situated. Nicaeth hadn’t been informed of any other potentially dangerous areas upon his arrival, so he figured he’d made a logical conclusion. The green Jedi snorted – completely ignoring a valid concern for the safety of young Order members – and answered, “Our initiates must learn to recognize darkness – and danger.”

That only served to push the other’s signature further into yellow. Nicaeth let himself stop completely, giving up the pretense of passing by. What a _disconcerting_ stance on training padawans, especially considering the battle that he knew was currently unfolding there. Who in their right mind felt justified in throwing young Jedi to the winds like _that?_

“There is darkness everywhere on Tython,” the first Jedi said pleadingly (clearly of the same opinion as Nicaeth), “But the dangers of the Gnarls…”

“We live in dangerous times,” the green Jedi said sharply, signature edging into an annoyed red-orange – never a good color to see, “Where would you send them? Training rooms inside the Temple?”

The intensity of the yellow signature immediately muted itself before such blatant derision. It almost hurt Nicaeth to see their wilting resolve. Very quietly, they conceded, “As you say, Master. But we can only afford to lose so many.”

Nicaeth felt the attention of the _very_ annoyed green Jedi begin to shift to him. He’d stood nearby for too long, clearly eavesdropping. He started on his way again, more worried about what he’d find in the Gnarls than he’d been only moments before.

The insistence on putting unprepared padawans into life-threatening situations made him deeply uncomfortable. Better to prepare padawans as best they could from a safe location, in his opinion; he could only hope that once he was knighted, he wouldn’t cow away from such masters himself. He wanted better for the young Jedi than that.

When he finally made it to the end of the platform, Nicaeth tapped his toe again. To his left was another set of rooms, one of which contained the yellowest signature he’d ever seen. There wasn’t even a whisper or a hint of another color in the poor individual’s Force presence; something he’d never encountered before.

He almost – _almost_ – convinced himself to go over and offer his meager aid, but his requested presence in the Gnarls was more important. The flimsy excuse he gave himself was that there were more padawans in need there than here at the retreat.

To his right, the platform extended down a short incline to another pad. A droid’s soft white signature stood in the center, a few active taxis surrounding them. He turned to the right and jogged down the slope – aware of the incline this time around. Whoever owned the powerful violet signature nearby would hopefully help the anxiously yellow Jedi; there was no way that such distress was going unnoticed by _all_ the masters at the retreat.

...but he still felt a little guilty about not going over to offer his assistance.

The impassive glow of a droid led him to an available speeder, also wreathed in white. The service droid did whatever it was supposed to with the taxi’s interfacing, and then Nicaeth was on his way. It was good that the droid was there, since he couldn’t read flat display screens. That was the biggest accessibility issue he’d come across since joining the Jedi. Most of the computers used by the Order were not designed with Miraluka in mind; the screens were nothing but blank white planes to him. Very frustrating for him and his siblings.

Pushing that basket of issues to the side, Nicaeth’s hand found the stud in his ear. Taking a deep breath, he recentered himself by focusing on the soft red hum of the stone. It had been a gift from one of his sisters before leaving Alpheridies, taken from a Force-imbued peak nearby their settlement, to celebrate his acceptance into the Jedi Order. It had been a comfort from the moment he’d slipped the earring into place; he always meditated much better with a focal aid as familiar as this one.

He steadied his breathing and watched the greens, blues, and purples blur by as the speeder delivered Nicaeth to his destination.

…and any clarity he’d just gained went right out the window when the taxi landed at the Gnarls. A multitude of signatures were milling about, all of them tinged to some degree with yellow. None of them – thankfully – were the same horrified color as that panicking individual at the retreat, but some of the more unrefined padawan signatures came closer to it than he’d like to see. It was also concerning to see the sentinels with hints of that same shade. Nicaeth span the stone stud around a few more times; he needed to keep a cool head.

Weaving his way through the crowd on the black platform, Nicaeth began to see red signatures flicker through the green aura of Tython’s plant life. He made the reasonable assumption that those were the Flesh Raiders; he’d never encountered a Force user with a presence in that color. Scattered beyond the landing platform, he could also see many yellow-tinged signatures partially hidden by the verdant glow. Padawans. He winced as one dimmed out into nothing on his peripheral, their death echoing in the Force. Bowing his head in a brief prayer, he asked Bogan to guard their soul well before stepping off of the speeder pad.

Two of the red-wreathed Flesh Raiders charged across the grassy clearing. Rather than wait for any nearby sentinels to notice, Nicaeth drew his vibroblade, powering it on. He ducked below the white hum of the first Flesh Raider’s blade. The other fired a pale bolt of energy from their blaster. He span around to position his weapon, dancing out of the first Raider’s reach. The bolt fizzled against his blade and then Nicaeth launched himself into the air, flipping over the second Raider.

He struck before he landed – and when his feet touched the grass again, the red signature was gone. The first Flesh Raider let out a guttural roar, charging Nicaeth again. Holding his ground, the padawan ducked under the Raider’s reach at the last moment, driving his blade up into its ribcage. Another red aura sputtered out.

This time, he sent a thankful prayer to Ashla for preserving his life as he turned away from the corpses. Scanning the fields before him, Nicaeth hurried to the nearest padawan that he could sense. They faltered just as he approached, the attacking Flesh Raider successfully disarming them. Shrieking, the young Jedi scrambled back. Instinctively, he threw his vibroblade into the center of the red aura. It blanked immediately, and he watched the glow of his blade tip back towards the ground.

“Thanks! I’m Eedli,” the padawan said as they regained their footing, shrill but grateful. Female, possibly Rodian based on her warbling voice and the mild scent of pheromones. Thankfully, it wasn’t pungent enough to draw too much attention from the Flesh Raiders; she must be using the standard scent suppressors that the Jedi provided for sentient races like hers. They both collected their weapons and Nicaeth turned to assess her signature. No pink indicating injuries, and the timid yellow was melting back into a soft green.

“Nicaeth,” he said as introduction, and just in case, he asked, “Are you hurt?”

“I’m not, but I’d appreciate it if you could walk me back to the speeder pad,” she replied, signature shifting into a rosy, bashful color. Nicaeth agreed quickly. He’d rather get Eedli to guaranteed safety before parting ways. It did no use to save the other padawan and then leave her open to another attack.

She stuck closely to him until they made it about halfway back. Then, without a word of warning, she hared off towards a faint signature that Nicaeth hadn’t noticed, shrouded as it was by the glowing green foliage. Another Flesh Raider reared out of the bushes just as she knelt over someone who was probably a wounded padawan.

“Look out!” he yelled, rushing over. She squeaked in alarm but didn’t move away from the injured Jedi, throwing herself forward to cover them instead. Nicaeth reached out with the Force, willing the Raider’s blade to still. Its red signature darkened with anger when the weapon froze in midair, just above Eedli’s head.

It abandoned the weapon as Nicaeth neared the other padawans, reaching for something at its side; probably a blaster. Before it could, Eedli’s own vibroblade flashed to life and she dealt a searing blow to the creature’s arm. He ended the altercation by flipping the Raider’s blade with the Force and slamming it forward, into its sternum.

Eedli immediately turned to fret over the unconscious padawan. Their faded blue signature pulsed weakly next to her soft green presence. Then, to Nicaeth’s surprise, her hands lit up with a brilliant white and the fluttering blue surged back to life. Eedli’s soft green flickered, edging into a dull gray. In alarm, he set a hand on her shoulder and asked, “Are you still ok, Eedli?”

“I’ll be fine,” she said firmly, but she sounded tired now, “We need to carry Tudi back to the speeder pad before more Flesh Raiders come along.”

Rather than let Eedli carry the other padawan herself, Nicaeth shouldered the burden of their weight himself. The gray that came from Force healing unnerved him, and if she overextended herself then the dead color wouldn’t fade out of her presence, even after resting. He didn’t like the idea of healers getting so put upon for aid that they killed themselves to save others. Not that he’d seen it himself, but he still didn’t care for the thought, which is why he ignored her request to share Tudi’s weight.

Thankfully, no other Flesh Raiders attacked them on their way back to the pad, and Nicaeth was able to deposit Tudi onto a conveniently placed stretcher that Eedli pointed out to him. Two other Jedi lifted it once Tudi was settled and rushed off into the crowd, bearing them away. Turning with the intention to go assist other endangered padawans, Eedli caught his arm before he could head back out to the training grounds.

“Could I get your comm information?” she asked, a little shyly, “Tudi will want to thank you themselves when all this is over.”

Unhooking the device from his belt, Nicaeth readily handed it over, saying, “Of course. You can program yours as well, if you want to give me updates on their progress.”

He suspected that Eedli would have an easier time dealing with the fallout of the attack if she had a minor responsibility to focus on. The Rodian’s signature flashed into a delighted yellow-orange as she typed the communication codes into his unit. The gray also started to wash out of her presence, to Nicaeth’s relief. Then she handed the comm back to him and said, “May the Force be with you!” before heading after the Jedi that had carried her friend away.

The following successions of battles went quickly once he was back on the training grounds. He’d managed to escort three more living padawans – and carry one critically injured student – back to the speeder pad in the space of a quarter hour. Each venture led him further away from safety, and deeper into the Gnarls. Before he knew it, he couldn’t even see the cluster of Jedi signatures at the pad anymore, covered as the planet was in Force imbued plant life.

Nicaeth’s comm chirped from his belt. None of the Flesh Raider’s faint red signatures were close by, so he scaled a nearby pile of dimly glowing purple rocks. Once he felt he was at a reasonably safe height, he settled down and answered the call. The Jedi who’d greeted him that morning popped up from the device. The white of the projection had a faint pink haze over it, which Nicaeth knew wasn’t a good sign.

_“You’re unharmed – good. Flesh Raiders shot me in the leg while I was rescuing some Padawans. Don’t know where these things got blasters, but they know how to use them,”_ he said, _“I’ve been evacuated to a medcenter, but the fighting isn’t over.”_

If some of the Flesh Raiders were skilled enough to get the drop on a knight, he needed to be more cautious as he continued his self-imposed rescue missions. He doubted any of the creatures were intelligent enough to cloak their presences – and thereby go unnoticed to Nicaeth’s Force sight – but he’d rather slow his progress than unexpectedly lose his head to one in front of an already traumatized padawan.

“Is there a specific location you want me to head to?” Nicaeth asked. With another knight out of commission, the Jedi were getting spread even more thinly over the training grounds. The situation didn’t pose well for the flickering padawan signatures that were still stranded. The little projection nodded its head.

_“We need to stop them at the source,”_ the other Jedi explained, _“Another padawan found a cave tunnel the Flesh Raiders use to enter this valley. I need you at that tunnel, making sure the Flesh Raiders don’t get any more reinforcements through it.”_

That was a good plan to put this madness to an end. If more Flesh Raiders couldn’t get into the valley, they could finally make some headway on securing the area and routing the enemy forces. Eager to continue to be of use, Nicaeth asked, “Did the other padawan provide coordinates to the cave?”

_“His comm cut out before he could tell me. I do know the cave is somewhere along the river,”_ he admitted, shaking his head, _“We need to end this conflict before anyone else gets hurt. Find the tunnel along the mountain range. May the Force be with you.”_

The call ended and Nicaeth sighed in disappointment. A shame they hadn’t been able to provide a specific location. He tapped his stone earring a few times, considering his options. Then he leapt off his rock and started to run back to the speeder platform.

The river wound through the Gnarls in a lively blue, almost crossing over itself several times before leaving the valley, with massive purple walls of rock skirting its banks for nearly the whole length. Depending on where that cave was, it could very well take him over a week’s time to find where it opened to the river. Time that really wasn’t available for him to waste. To search efficiently without having to backtrack to the speeder pad at the end of every day, he needed supplies for a multiday trip.

And a medkit for that padawan, if they survived that long.

[1] Jedi Shadows are knights who take on covert missions. They are grayer in their use of the Force than the other Jedi specialization groups, due to the nature of their assignments. If they aren’t careful, Shadows are more likely to fall to the dark side as a result to their more frequent exposure to the evils present in the Galaxy.

[2] An order of Miraluka for those who are more Force-sensitive than the average member of their species. The group focuses on developing sense-related powers in the Force. They are regarded as a sort of education system by outside individuals, since the Luka Sene only teach methods. Their organization does not have a distinct cultural heritage like the Sith or Jedi, though the dark side is not encouraged in their teachings. If a member fell to the dark side, exhaustive outreach efforts would be made before bringing such individuals in for discipline. Very rarely would such incidents end in the death of the fallen Miraluka.

[3] A near-human Force-sensitive species from Alpheridies. Because of the low levels of visible light, Miraluka do not have eyes, seeing instead by using the Force. They wear coverings over their vestigial eye sockets to avoid unnerving other species with their appearances. As a whole, Miraluka have little interest in glory and personal achievements, considering their entire race to be a large family. Most worship two gods – named Ashla and Bogan, after Tython’s moons – and have a balanced belief in life and death (rather than focusing on the light and dark aspects of the Force). While the Miraluka have their own organization for Force-sensitives, many of their people still join the Jedi Order.

_*Miraluka Force sight will be explained as seeing colored auras in this work. Droids and active energy sources – like engines – will be described in varying levels of white. For terrain that doesn’t have a Force signature or an energy source, I’m going to use a concept similar to Toph’s earth sense in Avatar: The Last Airbender._

[4] Sentinels are Jedi who specifically guard Jedi temples, and have a higher focus on martial skills. Typically, sentinels wield yellow lightsabers, which make them easily identifiable.

[5] Jedi who focus almost solely on developing Force abilities. They often go on to become healers and diplomats, though many pursue continued studies of Force phenomena on the side of their duties. They will most often be seen wielding green lightsabers.

[6] The closest a Jedi can become to being a warrior. Guardians are generally deployed as peacekeepers first, but ones who are prepared if the situation deteriorates into hostility. They study a combination of combat skills and Force abilities. These Jedi normally wield blue lightsabers (though Mace Windu in the prequel trilogy is a noted exception).

[7] One of the major Core worlds of the Republic, this agricultural planet is located in the Chandrila system. The population is mostly human, and they live in small, spread out settlements rather than large cities. Birth rates are also low; the residents are highly conscious of their impact on Chandrila’s environment and reduce it as much as they can. Chandrila is also the location of a Jedi temple, as well as the tomb of one of the Jedi who earned the title of Barsen’thor.

[8] A group of twelve Jedi Masters elected to lead the Order and advise the Office of the Supreme Chancellor. The Council has five lifetime positions, four long-term, and three short-term positions. The origins of the Council stretch back to the founding of the Order on Tython, with four initial members.

[9] Form IV of lightsaber combat. This form is aggressive – though not as much as Juyo – and relies on Force assisted acrobatics to execute its movements. Despite the flashy moves, the main focus of this form is speed. It works best against single opponents, though the standard movements lose effectiveness both in close quarters and long fights. It is not recommended for use against an enemy wielding a blaster.

[10] A planet located in the Abron system that has sprawling mountain ranges and plentiful fields. It is the adopted home world of the Miraluka after their original planet became uninhabitable. Since the Abron system orbits a red dwarf star, there is little light on the visible spectrum.

[11] A planet in the Deep Core region of the galaxy. It is also the birthplace of a creed of Force users that eventually became the Jedi Order. Intense Force storms drove the Order from the planet to Ossus, and it lay abandoned for over 22,000 years. New hyperlanes were charted to the planet after the Sacking of Coruscant, spearheaded by Jedi Knight Satele Shan. The newly built Temple serves as the Jedi’s headquarters, since their previous location on Coruscant was destroyed.

[12] An artificial material similar to leather.

[13] A processing unit with a holographic display for information. Holocomputers usually also have equipment included in their design to send/receive holocalls, as well as run security programs like holocams, microphones, and alert systems.

[14] A peaceful and advanced species from the planet Clak’dor VII. They usually have pink or yellow skin and large heads, but no nose; instead, they have sensitive olfactory organs underneath the flaps on their cheeks. Bith also have large, dark eyes that are capable of seeing microscopic details, but they are also very nearsighted because of it. Both the thumb and pinky on their hands are fully opposable. Due to fertility issues, all Bith are artificially conceived and gestated from the gene samples of their parents. Most Bith then grow up become esteemed intellectuals or musicians.

[15] A mutated subspecies of the Rakata bred to be soldiers for the Infinite Empire. They came to Tython as an army when the Empire invaded the system and allied with one of the founding members of the Jedi Order, Master Rajivari. When Rajivari turned on his fellow masters, his allies abandoned him and left their soldiers behind. After the Order left Tython, the soldiers digressed to their instinctive violence and cannibalism. By the time Satele Shan led the Jedi back to Tython, they had formed a very primitive society and learned to use modern weapons. Their aggression towards the Jedi place them as a significant threat to the rebuilding Order and earned them the moniker of Flesh Raiders.

[16] A region north of the valley where the new Jedi Temple has been built. The area used to be an ancient temple, but all that remains of the building are a few old bridges. Now covered with thick undergrowth and serving as the home to many animals, the Jedi chose the Gnarls as their new training grounds to prepare Padawans for their trials of Knighthood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there's Nicaeth! I would have introduced him later on in one of Phakrill's chapters, but my lovely SO requested that I give him (and the Jedi Knight storyline) some time in the spotlight, so here you go.


	4. The One Where Phakrill Has an Awful Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reluctant though she is, Phakrill has just been assigned her first trial of knighthood. In her heart, she wonders if becoming a Jedi is something she’s really capable of doing. With no one around willing to listen to her misgivings, she is also forced to take on duties which rightfully belong to older members of the Order.
> 
> Warnings: Hypersensitivity, sensory overload, swearing, blood, violence, deaths, endangerment of a minor, vomiting, implied panic attack*
> 
> *Occurs in the final two paragraphs of the chapter, starting at: Then it occurred to her…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Corresponds with Jedi Consular: The Path of a Jedi and Tython: Early Lessons

_Tython, 10 ATC – Phakrill_

The Force radiated in the very air of Tython. Phakrill could feel it stinging against her senses from the moment the shuttle entered the atmosphere. Teeming with a rich abundance of life, the Jedi home world was vastly different from the impersonal buzzing she remembered Coruscant[1] to be filled with. To her surprise, the sheer density of signatures belonging to the capitol world’s populace couldn’t compare to the way Tython felt _saturated._

Phakrill had never experienced a place like Tython before. She had been better travelled than most of the other children given to the Jedi, but she still hadn’t been anywhere that could have prepared her for a planet this overwhelming. Not even Ossus,[2] where she’d been assisting her master with his research before receiving the reassignment summons from the Council. Another of the Jedi worlds, Ossus was probably the closest experience she could have had, but even then Tython was… _different._ Certainly not what she was expecting.

Her former master had not told her much about Jedi Order’s home world. He’d only assuring her that it felt like coming home, leaving Phakrill in the dark and ignoring the questions she’d actually asked.

The planet’s Force signature didn’t feel welcoming.

Coruscant had once been familiar enough to be called her home, a long time ago.

Tython was _not_ Coruscant.

Not even close to it.

For one, Coruscant was a single massive city. Tython had _no_ cities, as far as she’d been informed. Just a ridiculously large cluster of Force nexuses[3] and the recently built Temple.

Second, she couldn’t shut Tython’s noise out of her head. Granted, she’d had a little help to accomplish the same thing back on Coruscant, but once the shields were up, Phakrill had managed them fine by herself. She’d just needed a few extra participants to rebuild them each time they came crashing down.

Thirdly, there was no one in the Jedi Order that wanted to help her rebuild her aforementioned fragile shields. By extension, that meant there was no one on Tython either. She didn’t expect any non-Jedi sentients to be here.

Phakrill knew she’d be sick before the end of the day. It was inevitable. The flimsy barriers she could produce on her own hadn’t been enough at any point in the past ten years, and they still weren’t going to be enough now. Despite her best efforts, she didn’t think it’d be enough even back on Coruscant. While the capitol world was mostly filled with the quietly humming signatures of Force null sentients, there were simply too many of them to handle on her own.

But at least their humming hadn’t compounded to affect her other senses, like Tython was doing. The shuttle’s engines were just so overwhelmingly **_loud_** on top of the chatter she was getting from the planet’s signature. The lights too sharp even in the drab seating area; the air biting at what little of her skin that wasn’t chafing against her robes. She hadn’t even reached the planet’s surface yet and already she dreaded what the Temple would be like. It was likely sitting right on top of a nexus, just like all the other Temples the Jedi had built.

Phakrill dreaded her coming trials. She didn’t know how she was going to handle them, but she knew the possible outcomes. Either she was going to consign the rest of her life to the Jedi…or she would be cast out into the greater galaxy without a second thought. Panic starting to rise, she abruptly remembered what Mama had liked to say when she was having a bad day: _“In the face of overwhelming odds_ , _don’t be ashamed if you lose the round. There’s always the next one to plan for.”_

Mama had thought of her Force related struggles as some sort of unseen war. It was the only way her mother could really understand it. The metaphor had led her to spend hours strategizing ways to help, despite having the same level of Force sensitivity as a rock. The results of Mama’s planning sessions had been hit and miss, but she’d tried. It was important to Phakrill that she had _tried._

Pop hadn’t ever said anything like that when her shields cracked. Actually, he’d never said anything, just pulled her into his lap instead and let her listen to his heartbeat until everything else she sensed lost clarity and subsided. Maybe hummed an old song or two for her, with melodies she hadn’t been able to find since. Phakrill missed his lullabies.

While she loved her parents and their efforts dearly, her older brother had gone above and beyond. He’d always allowed her to seek shelter behind the shields guarding his mind, and distracted her by bouncing silly thoughts in her direction. Though never formally trained, her brother had been able to grasp the concept with ease, unlike Phakrill. But he had always made himself available when she needed him. They had been deeply connected to each other, though she hadn’t known to what extent until he’d died and taken their bond to a fiery end with him.

She had no refuge now; hadn’t had one for a decade. No family to lean on for support. The Jedi weren’t her family, that was certain. They hadn’t even tried to earn that honor in the last decade. Family didn’t hang members out to dry if they struggled on their own. They didn’t neglect their children. They were supposed to…to…

Phakrill wasn’t sure what she wanted from her current not-family. Wasn’t sure if the Order would even give her anything if she decided that she did want something. But she did try her best not to be bitter. Most Jedi didn’t remember their homes. It wasn’t their fault they didn’t understand, and it was unfair of her to expect them to know how she felt.

Of course, she couldn’t confide in anyone that Tython was too much for her, let alone share her vague yearnings. Not even the teacher she’d left behind. For the last ten years, every Jedi she’d ever met had constantly reminded her that they expected great things of her. Or that she was _so_ gifted in the Force. Everything she did would _make a **difference.**_ They never told her anything else and they always meant good differences. Which didn’t ease her nerves at all. What if she ruined the galaxy on accident? Or even worse, what if she fell to the dark side and did it on _purpose?_

She’d thought that her previous master had at least been _aware_ of her growing insecurities, despite the man never lifting a finger to help her combat them. Actually…he’d never even alluded to them, now that Phakrill was thinking about it. Not once. Maybe he _hadn’t_ known (or hadn’t cared; no one had really cared in years). Maybe that was part of the reason she was getting transferred to Tython for both her trials _and_ a new teacher.

If only her brother were here. _Stars,_ did she wish he was. He’d always known how to smooth out her ruffled anxieties; how to help her find her next action. But he wasn’t. He was gone. Gone with no idea that Phakrill had only just turned fourteen last year or that she already shouldered more burdens than he would have ever wished on her. If he was alive and _knew_ what they were planning for her, he’d have...he’d…he would have done _something._

Something probably reckless and…and utterly spectacular that would both delight her and make their parents furious.

But he wasn’t, so here she was.

Officially, Phakrill was the youngest Padawan to _ever_ face the trials. If another teenager had been put through them before, whatever poor sap that might have preceded her hadn’t been recorded in any of the Order’s archives. What she _had_ found instead – when she’d been sneakily researching – were the details of the transfer request for her trials of knighthood. The Order was nervous; acceptance into the Jedi ranks was at an all-time high, to supplement their losses from the Sacking of Coruscant.[4] They were afraid of not having enough powerful knights when war with the Sith Empire inevitably razed the galaxy once again.

Phakrill wasn’t sure she was presenting the best image for a historically significant Padawan, let alone as the one that the Order was pinning their dearest hopes on. She hadn’t been able to sleep through a full night since they’d told her she’d been nominated. Their unspoken expectations made it even worse. She spent most of her resting hours pondering what her family would think of her now – were they still alive – instead of sleeping.

They probably would have objected to the Jedi Order preemptively drafting her into an intergalactic war. Mama at least would have been openly furious; she had _opinions_ about child soldiers. Pop and her brother had always been skilled at looking serene, no matter how upset they really got…but she liked to think that this would have made their facades crack. If anything, just seeing Phakrill in person would send all of them into a frenzy.

On top of her perpetual exhaustion (and terrible sleeping habits), her appearance was a mess. Robes horribly wrinkled and tangled, dusky red hair, just like they always were when she got stressed. There were dark bags under her eyes that almost never went away. Pop would have taken one appalled look at her and sent her back to bed with a snack. No one had offered her a snack since she’d been in the creches.

She did not feel like the promising young Jedi everyone always told her she was. She absolutely did not look it right now either. If Phakrill was being honest with herself, she’d never felt like the amazing person everyone told her she was going to become. Problems with her Force abilities had been cropping up well before she’d even ended up with the Jedi, and she’d lost the only method she knew of that could keep them stable.

At four years old, she’d been an acceptable age and eagerly accepted into the Order once they’d measured her midichlorian count.[5] They hadn’t really bothered to check for anything else, assuming instead that she was too young to have been touched by the dark. Another excuse on their part was that her admittance had also been shortly after the end of the war. Even now they weren’t looking too closely at their newest recruits.

What they’d overlooked was the evidence that she’d arrived with two shattered Force bonds, unlike most initiates.

That pain was impossible to get rid of, no matter how much she tried to listen to Jedi teachings and forget her family. The back of her head felt empty and _wrong._ They hadn’t let her stay in the creche either after she’d asked for a new bond at six, desperate to soothe the endless ache. They told her it was taboo and made her stand in their cold audience chamber while they elaborated for a full hour on the whole _“no attachments”_ rule. Her old master had been one of the extremists, refusing to form a training bond; their partnership had been arranged by the Chandrilan Council _“for her benefit.”_ She didn’t even know his name…if he had one.

The Jedi didn’t want her _corrupting_ other initiates with her _ideas about attachments._ And they still hadn’t let her see one of the Temple healers before shunting her off to a premature apprenticeship. She’d stopped talking to the adult Order members after that. If asking for help only resulted in isolating punishments, then she wouldn’t ask. Simple as that.

A sharp _ping_ from her belt pulled Phakrill out of her ruminations, making her ears ring despite the fact that she kept all her devices on vibrate. _Stupid Tython, amplifying stupid everything._ Checking the comm, it showed no new notifications. It must have been her _other_ one.

Sending a furtive glance at the cockpit, she made sure no one was watching as she pulled out a contraband communication device from where it was tucked inside her robes. It had been a gift from the smuggler that had turned her over to the Jedi. Phakrill had selfishly refused to part with it, and she was loath to turn it over to the Council, willingly or not. The comm was her most treasured possession – aside from the ever-distant memories of her family – and her greatest secret.

The Twi’lek[6] captain had been a source of comfort she’d desperately latched onto after surviving the sequence of tragedies that had cost Phakrill her family. It wasn’t the same as the rapport she’d had with her brother – since the smuggler was about as Force sensitive as Mama had been – but it was better than nothing. Most days, it felt like Rallinois was the only person left in the universe who loved her.

Her second comm showed an image message notification. Phakrill allowed herself a weak smile. Before opening it, she checked the cockpit again; they still weren’t watching her. She opened the message. The projected image made her smile. Rallinois’ ship droid (a slightly buggy C2-N2 model)[7] was holding up a homemade banner reading: _Good Luck!_

It had clearly just finished, judging by the splattered paint on its golden chassis and the way that part of the lettering was still dripping. The finicky old droid probably wouldn’t let the captain convince it to get the paint cleaned off for months, insisting that the splatters were a badge of honor. There was nothing in the galaxy that made Seetoo happier than she did. It refused to think of the collateral damage it caused as a mess when it was making presents for her.

Fondly, Phakrill noticed there were still remnants of the paint it had used for her birthday banner a few months before. The droid likely had more paint than it did oil in its joints at this point. Then a text message popped up just below the image.

_Hey kid. Seetoo wanted to congratulate you on your advancement to your trials._

She typed out a quick message since she was still being ignored by the pilot and sent it off. Rallinois responded almost immediately, like she usually did when she wasn’t otherwise occupied with piloting her ship (or in the middle of an unexpected firefight). The captain had always been very prompt in answering her messages ever since the debacle that had thrown them together ten years prior. Seetoo usually messaged her in the captain’s place on the rare occasions that the Twi’lek couldn’t; the droid always said her texts warmed its chassis and jumped at the opportunity to fill in for Rallinois.

_Give me a call if it gets to be too much. I’ll drop any job if you need me, Green Eyes._

The offer was sweet – as usual – even though they both knew Phakrill could never accept it. Unless she wanted to run straight into the arms of the Sith, the Jedi were the only sentients in the galaxy that could help her control her power. Without their help, her aptitude to the Force could very well overwhelm and kill her. After her brother gave up everything – including his life – to make sure she didn’t fall into Sith or Hutt hands, the Jedi were her only choice. She’d see this through to the end for him, even if he wouldn’t have liked the situation she’d ended up in.

Hopefully that end wouldn’t be a failed trial.

For now, it was enough to know that Rallinois had her back and was willing to give her an out (even when she couldn’t accept one). She was extremely grateful for the endless stream of anecdotes that were sent her way, regardless of her choice. They helped ease some of the pressure. Phakrill felt almost like a normal fourteen-year-old in comparison to the stories. The captain was always getting up to some wildly ludicrous adventure.

The shuttle touched down and she hid the comm unit, quickly stuffing it back into her drab brown Jedi robes. She also ran a quick hand through her chin-length hair, though it failed to tame the strands that floated around in agitation. Her brother had known how to keep them down when her hair was ignoring gravity. Phakrill could never get her hair to stay neat on her own. Perhaps she should adopt a shorter cut; her brother’s hair had always been kept well-trimmed, and she’d never noticed it floating when he was distressed.

Hoping she looked somewhat presentable, she unbuckled the safety harness and moved to the exit. The ramp lowered, and she walked off the ship only to have her breath fall away. The shuttle had landed at the Masters’ Retreat, which overlooked a massive river lined with trees. Statues of the ancient Jedi stood amongst the flowing currents, weathered but still whole. She’d never seen anything like it. Tython was _beautiful._

But still horrifically loud.

The mental noise was starting to affect her eyesight even more; every color was dialed up and it hurt to keep looking at the view surrounding the retreat. She gave herself several moments to attempt to sort out the different sensations in the Force. Phakrill managed to push away most of the plant life, but little else. There were too many nexuses nearby for her to manage anything more, and the strength of the masters’ signatures rubbed coarsely against her barriers.

Then she was reminded of why she was there by an older Jedi approaching the shuttle and introducing himself. He was balding, his gray hair pulled back into a tail, and his robes and goatee were impeccable. She reflexively tried to better smooth out her rumpled clothes.

“Ah, Padawan,” he said, “I heard your shuttle arriving. I’m Master Syo Bakarn, of the Jedi Council. Welcome to Tython.”

Master Bakarn began walking away from the shuttle pad, still talking. Phakrill scurried after him, trying to emulate the dignity Pop had always carried himself with. She was pretty sure it wasn’t working.

“This is the ancestral home of our order, where the Jedi first came to be.”

He paused to look at her before adding, “And where our most promising Padawans complete their training.”

“Right,” Phakrill said, barely managing to get the word out. The reminder augmented her already acute headache. Just when she’d managed to put the crushing weight of the Order’s expectations out of mind, he _had_ to remind her about them. She struggled to keep up with him as he led the way through the retreat.

“Your instructors tell me that even in childhood, you had a remarkable connection to the Force. We haven’t seen such power in decades.”

He entered a small room, and paused, glancing around when they found it empty. Where was her new teacher? Why weren’t they already here?

“I was…hoping your new master would be here. Yuon Par left her dig site and is returning to Tython specifically to train you.”

Phakrill wanted to disappear into the floor.

_Oh no oh no oh no oh no._

_What if her new master doesn’t like her?_

_What if they made it so she fails no matter what?_

_What if they see her and turn right back around to go back to their dig site and leave her here all alone with no one to help her face her trials?_

_What it everything her brother sacrificed results in **nothing** – no matter how hard she’s been trying to be a good Jedi – and then they kick her to the curb and leave her to fend for herself?_

_What if–_

“Trust in your initial training,” Master Bakarn cut in, clearly having sensed her panic (which wasn’t difficult, given her awful shielding), “and never forget the Jedi Code: There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death, there is the Force.”[8]

She tried to focus on the words like a good Jedi, but the only thought that really gave her comfort was that Rallinois would absolutely come and pick her up if she failed. Rallinois would look after her just like she’d always promised, and Seetoo would be delighted to see her – regardless of the circumstances. They wouldn’t abandon her over failing a test that she really shouldn’t be facing for _at least_ another six years.

She’d be ok.

She _had_ to be ok.

“This is…” the council member began but paused when he looked over Phakrill’s shoulder. She glanced back as well and saw another Jedi – an orange-haired human woman of an average height – rushing towards the doorway. As she crossed the threshold, Master Bakarn greeted her.

“Yuon. I was beginning to worry.”

Master Par addressed her directly, without acknowledging Master Bakarn, who was beginning to look hesitant about the entire situation. Phakrill wondered how much of her anxiety had slipped past her terrible shields, but the councilmember remained silent. She turned her attention fully to Master Par. The older woman was a little out of breath and looked much more personable than Phakrill had been expecting. Maybe this would work out better than her nightmares told her it would end.

“So you’ve arrived safely, my padawan. I’m sorry I can’t greet you properly, but we already have a crisis on our hands.”

That explained her new teacher’s harried appearance, though Phakrill got the uneasy feeling that this crisis wouldn’t bode well for her. _Why did everyone always want her to solve their problems?_ At the very least, she should still attempt a favorable first impression despite her misgivings, so she asked, “Is it something I can assist you with?”

“Tython is a treasure trove of ancient Jedi relics,” Master Par explained, “Recently, our researchers uncovered several ‘teaching holograms,’ but they’ve not been fully studied. These holograms may be records of the founders of the Jedi Order – they’re absolutely irreplaceable.”

Her teacher paused for a moment, looking back the direction she’d come from with a concerned frown, before adding, “But a large group of Flesh Raiders has begun rampaging through that region. Those priceless holograms are in danger.”

“Is there any way to protect them?” Phakrill asked, foreboding whispers brushing past the edges of her headache. Her teacher was going to assign her to a retrieval mission – she just _knew_ it – and then she’d have to face the hostile natives. And it wasn’t like she could refuse. Knighthood trials were pass/fail only; if she didn’t retrieve the holograms for Master Par, then she was going to get kicked out of the Order.

“Someone must slip past the Flesh Raiders to recover these holograms’ projectors,” Master Par instructed her, and then – just as Phakrill feared – said, “I intend this to be the first task of your training.”

Master Bakarn stepped forward at the announcement, exclaiming, “No, Yuon, you can’t risk a Padawan against Flesh Raiders, even for such important artifacts.”

Phakrill shrank away from the building argument as best she could for a very tall teenager. Her new teacher didn’t notice that she’d turned away, but also didn’t back down before the Council member’s reproof.

“A Padawan who was stronger in the Force at four years old than I was at fifteen?” Master Par retorted, bristling, “Gifted students need greater challenges.”

They both turned to look at Phakrill and there was silence for a few moments. They wanted her input? Panicking, she blurted out, “If…if Master Par says this is to be my first trial, then I will complete it?”

Master Bakarn’s face darkened, but what had he honestly expected her to _say?_ She couldn’t throw her trials out the window on the first assignment! Phakrill had to at least make an honest effort to give due respect to the memory of her brother.

Master Par, in direct contrast to the councilmember, offered her a pleased smile. The older woman was clearly happy to have gotten her way. Then she dropped the smile and said seriously, “The holograms are in the Gnarls. Be vigilant; that region has dangers of its own.”

Par handed her a comm unit. Phakrill tried not to make a face; she really didn’t need a third communication device. Her new teacher continued speaking.

“If you encounter any difficulties, contact me on this holocommunicator. When you have the holograms, meet me at the Jedi Temple. We have much to discuss.”

With that, Master Par turned on her heel and left. It was rather…chaotic…for a master, but she couldn’t think of a better word to describe the woman. Master Bakarn said nothing as they watched her teacher hurry over to the taxi pad, though he did exchange an uneasy glance with Phakrill. She hooked the new comm onto her belt next to her public unit, trying to ramp up her confidence. It was like trying to inflate an emergency raft riddled with holes.

Sympathetically, the older Jedi laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and said, “You can call the Sentinels from the outpost at the Gnarls if you get in over your head. Just activate the distress signal on your comm and I will make sure someone comes to retrieve you. Do _not_ wait until the situation is dire, Padawan Phakrill. Our students will _always_ be more important than artifacts, no matter how strongly Yuon feels about your trials.”

Then he left her as well, walking after Master Par with purpose. He was probably going to start another argument; a louder one that they didn’t need to keep a certain padawan from overhearing. Now alone in the room, she dug out her secret comm and sent another message to Rallinois. Another story of the captain’s escapades would be an agreeable distraction once she finished collecting the projectors.

Hopefully Rallinois would stick to her usual response and provide one of her tall tales without any questions. Phakrill wasn’t sure she could keep the smuggler from sneaking onto Tython and squirreling her away – Jedi be damned – if she caught wind of what her trials were shaping up to be. She doubted Seetoo would even try to stop Rallinois.

Tucking the comm away, Phakrill ran another shaky hand through her hair, still failing to keep it from floating. Then she took another look at the unit from Master Par. Sure enough, there was a red button with a dorn.[9] Master Bakarn had promised she’d get help if she pressed it. With the reassurance of more immediate backup than one smuggler of dubious reputation (who wasn’t even in the same sector), she headed for the taxi pad herself.

The ride from the Masters’ Retreat to the Gnarls was safe enough, and Phakrill was able to relax a little more as she watched the numerous trees go by below. Mama had liked plants; she probably would have like to see Tython too. Their apartment on Coruscant had been covered with any green thing that Mama could scrounge up while travelling. Wistfully, she recalled that her brother had turned the chore of watering them into an elaborate game.

Any sense inner peace was completely reversed when she arrived at the landing pad. It was in a state of complete disarray. People were yelling indiscriminately over each other; Phakrill covered her ears. Healers and sentinels alike were running back and forth across the structure, rushing padawans suffering from varying injuries along with them. There was blood on the metal floor of the platform.

_Looked like no one had expected the Flesh Raider attack,_ she thought grimly.

Phakrill had barely stepped out of the taxi when she was pulled into the flurry by a master beckoning her over, calling, “Padawan, come here quickly. The training grounds are not safe today.”

She ducked around a few knights to reach him. He took a closer look at her and asked, “You’re Yuon’s apprentice, aren’t you?”

Phakrill nodded. She was a little unnerved that he already knew who she was, but that happened more often than she liked to admit. More importantly, recognizing her was significant _because…?_

“We could certainly put your combat training to use,” the master said to himself. He was silent for a moment – thinking – before telling her, “The short version is we have Flesh Raiders invading the training grounds, and a group of Padawans without combat skills is trapped in the hills.”

She didn’t know what he was asking of her yet and she didn’t know what to say to him. In her indecision, the master continued speaking.

“I’ve got a beacon here. If you can find the Padawans and set the beacon, we’ll send an evac shuttle as fast as we can. A group of Jedi from the Temple is headed this way but maybe not fast enough. May the Force be with you.”

He handed her a homing beacon and waved her over towards the chaotic training grounds before disappearing into the crowd of Jedi. Phakrill stared down at the beacon. She’d just been assigned a _knight’s_ task. It was their duty to bolster the sentinels in defending padawans and the Temple, not _hers._ Padawans were generally considered too young and inexperienced to be of much help in these kinds of situations.

He wanted a fourteen-year-old - who had only a _little_ more battle experience than the other padawans - to stage a search and rescue mission? _By herself?_ _Would they kick her out if she refused and pawned the beacon off to someone else?_

Why hadn’t the master found a _knight_ to help him? This was far above Phakrill’s skill level, and she knew she was starting to freak out.

_What if the Flesh Raiders kill her before she got to the other padawans?_

_Could she even use her electrostaff **[10]** to defeat them?_

_What if she saved the padawans and then got killed retrieving the projectors?_

_What if she saved them and **lost** the projectors?_

Surely Master Par wouldn’t fail her for that… _right?_

This time the spiral was cut off by a Flesh Raider charging the line of sentinels in front of her, wildly brandishing a vibroblade. The sharp hum of a yellow lightsaber filled the air – she could feel the crystal singing in her mind – and moments later the Flesh Raider was bisected on the grass. Phakrill stared at the pinkish-orange body; her electrostaff wasn’t capable of anything near that kind of damage.

She sat on the stairs heavily, clutching the beacon, and tried to remember how to breathe. Several more locks of hair began to drift around her head, weightless. Phakrill reached up with a trembling hand to smooth them back down. It didn’t work. Again.

_Stars,_ she wished Rallinois was here. The captain would know just how to take her mind off the terrifying natives and make sure she was fine. Then the Twi’lek would probably send her back to the ship with Seetoo and delve into the fray alone, laughing like a madwoman. The jittery old droid would fuss over her back on the _Tarnished Vow;_ it hated fighting even more than Phakrill did and never went into the field with the captain. Imagining its fussing helped.

Eventually, she felt steady enough that she could look out at the training grounds again. She needed some way get through it without drawing attention to herself. Maybe she could copy the Shadows and the way they disappeared by shrouding themselves in the Force? The Flesh Raiders couldn’t kill her if they never knew she was there.

…it wasn’t a half bad idea. Taking a deep breath, Phakrill pulled her Force presence close and squeezed her eyes shut, viewing her surroundings through the Force. _Ok_. Time to try this out.

_I’m not here. Not here, not here, not here, not here, not here, not here._

The Force swirled around her, getting tight and tighter and _tighter_ until she felt like she was wrapped up in a blanket like a slug. It remined her of how Pop used to tuck her in at night, wrapping her in a cocoon made of bed covers. It was a little claustrophobic since she hadn’t been in a blanket slug for years, but anything was better than being an easy target for Flesh Raiders. The blanket felt secure enough in the Force, though she did her best to keep a psychic hold on it.

Time to test it out. She let out a soft breath and opened her eyes.

Nothing had changed – that she could see – but then she _was_ the one hiding in the Force. She stood and took a step down onto the grass, feeling a little braver. And braver still when she walked past the line of sentinels and none of them made any indication of seeing her. _She could do this._

She wrapped the blanketing Force closer – feeling better than she had in weeks – and set out towards the Gnarls. Newfound confidence buoyed her steps, allowing her to travel more quickly. Every stride lifted her spirits and by the time the speeder pad was an hour’s hike away, she felt invincible. Maybe she _could_ do this whole Important Padawan thing that the Jedi wanted her to do.

Then she rounded a corner and came across her first Flesh Raider.

The creature was alone. She’d be able to pass by as easily as she’d crept past the sentinels earlier. It should be simple; just step lightly enough that any movement in the grass looked like a light breeze and then she’d be on her way. _Piece of space cake._ Keeping to the other side of the walking trail, she cautiously moved forward.

The Flesh Raider lifted its head and _scented the air._

It looked directly at her.

_It could smell her._

**_It could smell her._ **

Sheer panic tore the Force shroud from her, and the creature roared when she suddenly became visible. It charged at her, drawing a vibroblade and stabbing at her without bothering to power it on. Phakrill screamed and scrambled out of the way – narrowly avoiding getting impaled – and reached out into the Force without thinking. A massive piece of earth shot from the ground and slammed into the Flesh Raider, disorienting it. She spun her electrostaff as hard as she could into its head before it could charge her again.

There was a sickening _crunch_ and the Flesh Raider collapsed, its skull crushed.

She stared at the body in horror.

The contents of her stomach were promptly lost next to it.

Then it occurred to her that there could be more Flesh Raiders nearby and _what if they’d **heard.**_ Scrambling away, Phakrill pressed herself into a shallow crevice in the nearby rockface. It was hardly a defensible position, but she needed to feel the solid rock against her skin. She curled up and tried to take a deep breath, heartbeat hammering wildly. It stuttered in her throat and – whimpering – she lost control.

_It’s too loud so loud why is the Force screaming why is everything so loud how do I make it stop why can’t this stupid planet just **BE QUIET!?**_

[1] A planet located at the core of the galaxy and originally called Notron. Over the course of galactic history, Coruscant has been the capitol world of several governments, the most longstanding of them being the Galactic Republic. With the Jedi Order’s close association with the Republic, Coruscant has also historically served as their headquarters. The city has been developed to the point that the entire surface of the planet is called the Galactic City. The planet originally had two native species: the Zhell (ancestors of modern humans) and the Taung (founders of the Mandalorian Empire).

[2] The second planet chosen by the Jedi Order. It was also once the location of a Jedi Academy, but fallen Jedi razed the planet around 300 years before the Great Galactic War. Many items and buildings of historical significance were destroyed. Though the planet is now a toxic and arid wasteland, many Jedi have returned to excavate the ruins of their predecessors.

[3] A nexus (or vergence) is any location abnormally powerful in any Force aspect. They can be affiliated with both the light and dark side.

[4] Also called the Battle of Coruscant, this was the final conflict of the Great Galactic War. After 28 years, the Sith Empire unexpectedly offered to make peace with the Republic at a political summit on Alderaan, during which they secretly launched an attack on the Coruscant Jedi Temple. The Jedi were defeated, the Supreme Chancellor assassinated, and the Sith fleet bombed a significant portion of Coruscant’s surface, destroying the Temple in the process. With the Republic’s capitol held hostage, the delegates at Alderaan were forced to sign the Treaty of Coruscant, despite the Empire’s outrageous terms. Even after ten years of cold war, the Republic has yet to complete reconstruction efforts.

[5] Microscopic life forms that live symbiotically within all other living things. Normal sentients usually have a concentration of 2,500 per cell, which can be measured by taking a blood test. Sentients with higher densities of midichlorians present as Force sensitive.

[6] Vibrantly colored humanoid species native to Ryloth, the most notable characteristic of Twi’leks are their two lekku (headtails). The lekku are sophisticated organs used for both nonverbal communication and cognitive functions. Handling lekku violently is excruciatingly painful and can result in damage to the Twi’lek’s cognitive abilities, though it is possible to repair such injuries with cybernetics. They also have sharp nails that are reminiscent of claws. Most Twi’lek have slender builds, marking them as an attractive species to slavers like the Hutts. On the rare occasion that a Twi’lek leaves Ryloth without being enslaved, it is normal for them to gain a significant amount of weight. Back on their desert home world, food is scarce and gaining that much weight is an indication of affluence. Another symbol of good fortune among their people are long and shapely lekku.

[7] A steward droid model designed to care for starships. They are similar in appearance to protocol droids like C-3PO.

[8] The variant of the Jedi Code in use at this time was written by Jedi Odan-Urr.

[9] The Aurebesh equivalent of the letter d.

[10] A staff weapon made from a lightsaber resistant Phrik alloy. Both ends have caps that generate electromagnetic pulses.

_*Phakrill’s staff will be like the ones shown in Revenge of the Sith, rather than the design from The Old Republic._


	5. The One Where Rallinois Runs A Blockade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Work never stops for a smuggler like Rallinois, but this job on Ord Mantell may finally get the captain in over her head. Stuck in the crossfire between the Mantellian separatists and the Republic military, she’ll have to choose a side if she wants to make it offworld in one piece. Reluctantly, the captain decides to throw her chips in with the Pubs.
> 
> Warnings: Referenced kidnapping attempt, starship battle, swearing, violence, death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Corresponds with Smuggler: Landing Party, Ord Mantell: Clearing the Air, and Bonus Mission: Take Back Drelliad Village

_Ord Mantell, 10 ATC – Rallinois_

_Tell Seetoo I said thanks. The banner looks great._

Staring at the comm in her hand, Rallinois sighed deeply. Green Eyes must be very upset, if that was the only reply she’d sent.

Seetoo had hoped the banner it had made would be enough to cheer the kid up, but the captain had a sinking feeling that it hadn’t. Normally, there was a picture of the padawan for the old droid – an exchange for whenever Seetoo had the captain send an image. There wasn’t one attached to the text message this time.

Not to mention how flat the wording fell. Green Eyes usually put more life into her texts than that. Normally, the teen never included periods in her messages; Rallinois had gotten more than one lecture on how intimidating “proper grammar” could be. The evolution of written communication was one of Green Eyes’ favorite phenomena to observe, so the captain had paid attention to each of the nuances her teenager explained (in detail). It helped clue her in to when the young girl needed help.

The pressure of being the youngest Jedi ever nominated for the trials must be getting to the kid.

The poor girl had been through a lot of hardship and heartbreak, more than any child deserved. When Rallinois had first met her, they’d spent three months on her ship together and the kid had barely said ten words. None of those aforementioned words happened to be the girl’s name, hence the moniker referencing her eye color.

Still…she’d gotten fond of the little girl that liked to hide in her smuggling bays, despite her self-professed inclination to being a loner. The captain had once been a shell-shocked orphan too; she knew what it was like. The loss, displacement, and terror. She’d made the _Tarnished_ _Vow_ her home, and Rallinois had been determined to make Green Eyes feel like she had a place to belong with her.

They’d been doing _so_ well together – the three of them: Rallinois, the kid, and her new droid – when the hunters had started coming after Green Eyes. She’d nearly lost the girl twice when they made an emergency pit stop on Balmorra;[1] first to the hunters, and then to a terrible fit when Green Eyes’ Jedi magic got out of control. It had almost brought a building down on top of them. That had only been the first incident, and loath as Rallinois was to part with her new kid, she had _no_ idea how to handle a Force sensitive child.

She also knew what usually happened to untrained children: they died.

Rallinois had called the Jedi Order within a tenday of leaving Balmorra.

The Jedi had sent instructions for a meeting at the Republic Fleet’s orbital station. Even now, Rallinois didn’t care much for military stations – too many regulations and holocams – but she had programmed the coordinates into her nav computer[2] anyway. It was probably the safest meeting place available, since she was almost certain that the Sith were responsible for the bounty on Green Eyes’ head. During their harried escape from Balmorra, she’d caught a glimpse of a red laser sword as the _Vow’s_ ramp closed. There was no galaxy where Rallinois was willing to risk one of those sleemos[3] getting their hands on a child.

There had been two Jedi waiting for them at the orbital station when they arrived, and her kid had finally given a name when they asked for one. Personally, Rallinois thought that the kid was lying. Who would name their daughter Phakrill? Every sentient she’d ever met with that name had identified as male – and she’d met quite a few of them. Not to mention that Phakrill was the name of whoever Green Eyes begged for after waking from a nightmare, before the girl recognized her current caretaker.

Rallinois had politely not brought him up after Green Eyes clammed up the first time she’d asked. The little girl had probably only taken the name for herself to honor whoever she’d lost. The captain was about 95% sure she’d met him too, for that matter. There had been an older teenaged boy with Green Eyes the day they’d met. He hadn’t made it off Nar Shaddaa with them. Rallinois had never learned his name in that brief encounter, but she was willing to bet a hundred credits that it had been Phakrill.

Their meeting with the Jedi had gone about as normally as she could have expected until they ran the blood test. Whatever they were looking for, they’d found enough to send both knights into a tizzy. She’d caught a few snippets of their franticly whispered conversation, but it didn’t really matter that she had. _“Midichlorians”_ and _“the last Barsen’thor” **[4]**_ didn’t mean much to her. The most she knew about that business was that the Barsen’thor guy had died during the Sacking of Coruscant.

She _might_ have also heard a juicy little rumor that said he’d only been on planet to resign from his position, but that was just hearsay. Unconfirmed hearsay at that.

What had _really_ rankled her was how the two Jedi had looked at Green Eyes after the epiphany they’d just had: like a sun was shining out of her butt, or something else ridiculous. It had only been her inadequacies as a guardian that had kept Rallinois from immediately escorting her kid back to the ship and dipping out to the other side of the galaxy. And the lingering fear that if she kept the girl, she’d be easier for the Sith to find.

Now though, she was glad that she’d given enough credence to her misgivings to take the initiative and plant her spare comm in one of the girl’s pockets. Green Eyes had really needed her support over the years. And still needed her. It sounded like no one else was listening to her, even after having been with the Jedi for so long. Jedi were some of the most powerful sentients in the galaxy and they were all _shit_ parents, apparently.

The proximity alarm went off. No more time to worry about her kid.

Tossing the comm unit to Seetoo, she shut off autopilot and went into a barrel roll – just barely evading the Seppie ship that started firing at them. The droid shrieked but stayed firmly planted where it was; those magnets they’d installed in its feet really paid off when Rallinois had to get creative with her flight patterns. A quick flip got her frontal cannons lined up with the enemy vessel. A squeeze of the trigger later and the impertinent fuckers were spaced.

Only problem was that her cute little display caught the attention of the rest of the Seppie blockade.

“Get over here and strap in!” she barked at her copilot. Clanking over, Seetoo plopped into its chair and secured itself just before she wove them between three larger ships. Their tailing grew as she did, five starfighters chasing after them. Rallinois made another risky maneuver around a massive ship’s command tower, which got her another shot at a fighter. Four to go.

Once the droid gave her a jerky thumbs up, Rallinois transferred the flight controls to Seetoo and made a beeline for the rotary cannons. Seetoo managed to keep the _Vow_ steady enough for her to get strapped in without taking a spill on her way. Jamming on the bone conduction headset,[5] she flipped open the channel and said, “Locked and loaded, Seetoo. Have we taken any hits?”

_“Negative,”_ it reported, _“shields are at 100% integrity. Initiate fancy flying protocols?”_

“You betcha,” she confirmed before focusing on manning the cannons. Spinning her gun around, she fired on their pursuers. The first two shots missed, but the third clipped the wing of another Seppie and she cheered when it spiraled into another one of their fighters. One left.

_“I’m **so** glad you downloaded the flight upgrades for me,”_ Seetoo said, more deadpan than usual. The fidgety old droid used to short out any time they got into a brawl – and occasionally when the caf machine broke – but the extra programming pack and a new power core had fixed the issue rather well. Seetoo was an absolutely boring pilot though, even when it was in fancy flying mode. Honestly, the droid flew like her grandmother (ignoring the fact that Rallinois’ grandmother had never set foot in a spaceship, much less flown one).

Still, she grinned and answered, “Yeah, yeah, I’m the best,” before blasting the last Seppie into space dust, giving them a clear shot at the planet.

“Punch it,” she ordered. A light blinked from the gun array, indicating that the gravitational stabilizer had been activated. Seetoo accelerated as it came online and said, _“Punching it.”_

As they entered Ord Mantell’s[6] atmosphere, the onboard gravity shut off, making Rallinois’ tchun tchin[7] flop over her head. She did another 360° with her rotary cannon. None of the approaching enemy fighters came up in range. She doubted they’d catch up; she’d spent a lot of credits upgrading her ion engines.[8]

“I’m coming back to the cockpit.”

She hit the switch for the comms and waited for Seetoo to flip the _Vow_ so they were coming in right side up. Then she unbuckled and walked back to the cockpit, flopping back into the pilot’s chair. Seetoo transferred the flight controls back to her and stated, “Disengaging fancy flying protocols.”

“Check the sensors,” Rallinois said, “How many have we got tailing us?”

“Six ships, but we’re out of firing range and they can’t keep up with us. They’re falling off the radar,” it reported, “Excellent flying, Captain.”

“Thanks, Seetoo. You’re not so bad yourself – for an old lady,” she quipped back.

“Ha ha,” it droned. She gave it a cheeky, brown-eyed wink and kept the throttle at full. Best to lose those seppies before coming in with their cargo. The last thing they needed right now was to be responsible for radical separatists[9] ending up with that bay full of guns. The ever-growing anti-Republic faction didn’t care if they gunned down refugees alongside Republic soldiers. It made Rallinois sick to think about the children that had been caught in the crossfire.

They could afford to spend the fuel outrunning those seppies anyway; the _Tarnished Vow_ was supposed to be getting a full refuel in addition to their payment. Checking the radar again as a precaution, she was pleased to see the last bogey blink on the display a few times before dropping off. Taking the ship a little lower into Ord Mantell’s atmosphere, Rallinois said, “Let’s find that station we’re supposed to be delivering at.”

Seetoo began loading the coordinates up on the nav computer and asked, “Engage autopilot?”

“No,” Rallinois said firmly, “I’m keeping the reins for this planet.”

They’d come in on the wrong side of the planet, thanks to the blockade. It was going to be a dicey flight with the reports that the Republic military were firing on anything that looked like a Seppie. As an unmarked ship, the _Tarnished Vow_ was a typical target; most seppies didn’t paint insignias on their ships. She should probably give her starship a more iconic paintjob.

They made it to Drelliad Village[10] in one piece, though Rallinois had made Seetoo’s gears shriek when an antiaircraft missile almost smashed them out of the sky, exploding just above their port side. None of the other rockets came close to hitting the _Vow,_ but that one had been too close for comfort. The hangar came into view just as her comm pinged. The droid opened the new message. After the few moments it took to read the text, it said, “Green Eyes is requesting another story.”

Turning to look at her, Seetoo asked, “She’s not handling the trials well, is she?”

“Afraid not,” she answered. _Poor Seetoo_. It had just joined her crew when Green Eyes had ended up with them. Rallinois hadn’t even needed to buy a nanny program for it; Seetoo had just taken to the kid immediately. The droid had gotten so attached that it had stood in a corner for two standard days after she’d handed the kid over to the Jedi, muttering to itself about the best ways to steal the girl back. For a droid that detested violence, it had been a surprise to hear at least one plan that involved blasters.

It had always asked after their teenager regularly since then. Rallinois hadn’t had the heart to wipe its memory, despite the bugs that came with overaccumulating data. She’d given it two separate storage upgrades to fit the decade of memory the droid was hauling around. Not many slicers wanted to work on a droid without wiping it, so she’d also had to learn how to slice herself so she could weed out harmful glitches. Despite the captain’s insincere complaints, the inconvenience had been worth it so Seetoo could continue to remember Green Eyes.

“Why don’t you start telling her about what happened today while I land?” she offered. Appeased, the droid began typing away on the comm while the captain deployed the _Vow’s_ landing gear. The droid enjoyed relaying the stories almost as much as Green Eyes liked reading them. It made for a good alternative when Rallinois couldn’t think of a new mess she’d been in. It also helped Green Eyes feel noticed, even when the captain was preoccupied with business.

Seetoo told the stories differently than she did. Rallinois tended to focus on parts that she thought would make Green Eyes laugh, and downplayed the violent bits to avoid worrying her kid. The droid liked to make itself out to be the dashing hero. The captain was 90% sure that it thought of her as its sidekick, even though she was the clear owner of the _Tarnished Vow._

Once they were securely on the ground, the droid saved a copy of the message and hooked the comm to the outside of its chassis before beginning its normal post flight checks. Rallinois let the droid keep it – she had a backup comm for emergencies anyway – and checked her blasters. The twin guns were fully charged, as were the extra ammo packs she kept tucked in her belt.

Her ELG-3A[11] was still hidden away in the holster sewn into her jacket. The gun had been part of her payment for a job on Naboo, back when she’d just been starting out. It was a good weapon and easy to conceal, so she’d made a habit of carrying the extra blaster for _“just in case”_ situations. The gun had been her ticket out of many a tight spot. She hoped today wouldn’t end up being one. Rallinois wanted this job over with so she could get back to worrying about her kid.

Leaving the cockpit, she headed to the ramp so she could see what the hangar had to offer as a ground crew. She yelled, “Ma-allesh!”[12] down the corridor at Seetoo, wherever it currently was. Unloading shouldn’t take too long, but the old droid didn’t like it when she ran off without saying parting words. It worried when she didn’t.

A hand went to her headband and tchin for a moment as she lowered the ramp. Twi’leks weren’t common on Ord Mantell anymore, according to recent reports about the planet. Most members of her species didn’t like to stick around war torn areas, for good reason. Slavers often took advantage of the confusion that always surrounded planetary conflicts. Her tchun tchin and Lethan red skin[13] would be rather conspicuous. Hopefully no one would be weird about it.

…and sure enough, she got a weird look from the only crewman present. He was human – or near to it – with shoulder length brown hair and a massive, dark tattoo across the right side of his face. Not a very good looking fellow, in her opinion; he had no right to stare at Rallinois like she was the weird looking one. She stalked down the ramp towards him, and he spoke, surprise coloring his voice, “Can’t believe you made it through that separatist shooting gallery, Captain.”

What did he take her for, a rookie? No sane rookie went anywhere within two _parsecs_ of Ord Mantell. She’d been in this business longer than just about anyone else out there. Most of the other big-time smugglers had gotten picked off during the war, and the newcomers just didn’t measure up. This guy should _know_ who she was – given the planet’s history with smugglers – but he was just looking intently at the _Vow_.

She supposed he was simply a little star struck, like most ground crews got when she pulled in. After twenty years abroad, the _Tarnished Vow_ was something of a legend in spacer circles. Overhearing some drunkard waxing poetic about her flight records always captured her amusement. Rallinois had thought that her rep was as well-known as her ship; people usually recognized her on sight. It had been a long haul to build up her streak of quick draw victories, but her crowning achievement was sticking to her no-nonsense business policies. It had been well worth the rough start she’d had with them – people took her seriously now.

“Your ship isn’t even scratched,” he said with a short whistle, after circling the ship once, “It takes guts landing in the middle of a battlefield. Nice flying.”

“Thanks,” Rallinois said, flatly. His observation lacked the usual awe the _Tarnished Vow_ received. He hadn’t seemed to recognize the callsign, which was the only paint she’d applied to the outer casings. It was perturbing. The crewman started walking back into the hangar, talking as he did.

“The name’s Skavak. I’m picking up those blasters in your cargo hold.”

Rallinois followed him, refraining from sniping that she wouldn’t be here otherwise; honestly, why was this guy insisting on treating her like a newbie? A massive shudder rocked the building. Someone was firing heavy ordinance uncomfortably nearby. _Not a good sign._ Skavak looked over at the hangar door briefly and added, “Excuse the rush but I need to get out of here quick. This village used to be safe, but the separatists are taking over.”

There wasn’t any urgency to the way he spoke or even when he turned around to type something into the station’s terminal. He threw a glance over his shoulder at her but made no move to start rushing about with unloading. Skavak didn’t even look mildly fazed. It irked her, but Rallinois couldn’t place what the crewman was clearly hiding.

“If I were you,” he said, “I’d haul jets as soon as we’re done.”

Again, that was the plan already. She had a stressed-out teenager that needed comfort, small as the captain’s offerings were. Getting a little short tempered, Rallinois barked out, “Get stepping then,” rather sharply. Another shudder rippled by, shaking dust loose from the ceiling. Skavak looked over at the entrance of the building and commented, “Sounds like the bombing is getting closer. The separatists will be right on top of us any minute.”

He _still_ didn’t sound like he was in a hurry, and leisurely handed Rallinois a credit stick.

“Here’s your payment for this run, Captain. Soon as I have those blasters, you’ll be free to fly.”

As a much nearer shock wave rocked the building, another crewman came running in frantically, shouting, “Skavak! We’ve got a big problem!”

The second crewman scrambled to a stop just before running into Rallinois. He didn’t look like much more than a kid to her. He’d probably only been an adult for a few years, by Republic standards. At least he didn’t have an unappealing tattoo like his coworker, and his dreads were neatly pulled back into a single tail. Rallinois didn’t often make judgements based on appearances, but she figured she’d like him better than Skavak.

“Separatiststookoverthelocalairdefensecannon!” the kid blurted out, not even pausing to catch his breath. That… _what?_ Something about the separatists? Skavak look just as mystified as she felt and said, “Whoa! Slow down, slow down, Corso. What are you talking about?”

The kid took a few gulps of air before starting again – at a reasonable speed this time – saying, “They deployed some kinda remote control stations. Hijacked the cannon’s targeting computer. Damn separatists just destroyed an incoming Republic transport!”

That was not good news for anyone currently in Drelliad. The young crewman seemed to realize it too, because his breath picked up again and he sounded like he was edging a little towards hysteria.

“With those remote control stations, the separatists can override the air defense cannon’s computer – turn that firepower against us any time they want!”

Rallinois made a displeased face. Separatists with heavy artillery. What a _great_ addition to her day.

“That’s bad news, Captain,” Skavak said to her, like she didn’t already know, “The separatists will blast you out of the sky if you even think about taking off.”

The kid – Corso, she reminded herself – looked at her like he was just noticing she was there. _Ugh. Rookies._

“The separatists have remote control stations all over the area,” he said, “You’ll probably have to hit several before they lose control of that cannon.”

They wanted _her_ to take care of the cannon? Well…it wasn’t like Rallinois could leave before getting rid of the blasted thing. She gave Skavak a pointed look and said, “This is going to cost you extra.”

“Good luck,” Corso offered, “Hope we see you again.”

Skavak didn’t even bother wishing her luck. So much for a vote of confidence. He moved off towards the _Vow,_ saying, “Let’s move, Corso. We’re running out of time.”

The man finally sounded like he understood the situation at hand, but she stopped the kid from walking away. She wasn’t about to leave without a way to check in on her ship, with how fishy Skavak was acting. Rallinois shoved her comm at the younger crewman and ordered, “Load your info in.”

Corso obliged and sent himself a ping to ensure that he could contact her if something happened while she was away from the hangar. She let him scurry after his coworker once the comm was clipped back to her belt. Grumbling to herself, Rallinois jogged out of the hangar to check out the rest of the village. Outside, she could see that it was partially destroyed, the ground jagged around a crater. Clearly the work of military grade explosives. It reminded her of the ghost villages that she’d seen dotting Balmorra.

Which reminded her that she still needed to check in with Green Eyes once this was finished.

A Republic sergeant waved her over before she could skirt around the edges of the crater. A little way beyond him, she could see the walker that Corso had mentioned; the cockpit was a shattered, smoking carcass. Green Eyes would be pleased if she teamed up with the Pubs – being an upstanding Republic citizen and all – but that didn’t stop her from already feeling worn out when she knelt next to the sergeant. She was getting too old for shit to go down like this.

“Stand by a tick…” he said to her, putting a hand to his headset. The sergeant fiddled with a dial and barked out urgently, “HQ! This is forward recon, do you copy? HQ?”

His face screwed up in frustration after a long minute. No one must have answered.

“Blast!” he muttered to himself, “Thought I had ‘em.”

Shaking his head, he turned back to Rallinois, eyeing her twin blasters. _Great._ Another job request.

“You look like you know your way around a blaster. Wanna be a hero?” he asked, looking hopeful. Green Eyes would be pleased if she helped him out, so the captain shrugged and said, “Sure, why not? What's the rundown?”

“A crack separatist militia has taken over this village, so we’re not talking dumb grunts and farmers,” the sergeant informed her, “They’ve got experts in there with serious jamming equipment.”

Rallinois winced at the sergeant’s generalization of the separatists. Granted, she wasn’t fond of seppies – mostly because they liked to try to shoot her – but she knew about the problems they faced. Ord Mantell’s government wasn’t known for their integrity and the captain could understand why the local populous was feeling so rebellious. If she was a decade or so younger, she’d probably be right in the middle of this civil war on the opposite side.

She was _only_ getting involved right now because of the highjacked cannon. And maybe for Green Eyes’ approval. Dryly, she asked, “Any ideas?”

“I figure I’ve got one option left: ask you for help,” he admitted, “My mission is to deliver recon on this village, but I can’t report anything through this interference! I need those separatist jammers neutralized – so if you’re headed into the village anyway, maybe you can handle it for us.”

“I happen to be headed that way,” Rallinois conceded. These military boys were lucky she was a half decent slicer – and that jammers were easy to dismantle. The sergeant’s face brightened.

“If you waste those separatist jammers, report back here,” he said, “I’ll see if I can’t requisition some equipment you could use.”

Rallinois flipped a lazy salute to the sergeant before leaving him to get back to his radio dials. She slipped past the troopers’ hastily constructed barricade and darted around the crater. There were a few seppies guarding the village entrance. They started firing on her, but the poorly aimed blaster bolts were easy to sidestep and Rallinois gave them a returning volley. She made a point of not looking at their bodies after she killed them; a lot of rebel fighters weren’t much older than Green Eyes (in her experience). Teenagers were easier to get riled up with righteous fury, and she hated having to fight the ones that got indoctrinated.

Guilt was for later, in hyperspace with her secret bottle of Alderaanian wine.

Drelliad itself had more trigger-happy separatists scattered about the streets. Even the back alleys were crawling with them, as the captain discovered when she ducked into one to avoid a patrolling group. For a moment, the three seppies crowded around a jammer stared at her in alarm before raising their blasters. Unfortunately for them, Rallinois already had hers up and ready; none of them had the opportunity to fire.

Once the street patrol had passed by her alley – without even checking on their jammer team – she unstuck herself from where she’d squished in between a large waste canister and a building. Squatting next to the jammer, Rallinois smiled to herself when she saw familiar strings of coding flash on the viewscreen. All she had to do was input a few commands and the device would fry all of its drives and transmitters. Once the jammer stuttered and died, she sent a ping to the _Vow_. An error sign popped up: _undeliverable._ The seppies had more than one jammer, as expected.

The next alley over revealed a remote tower, clearly installed very recently. Surprisingly, it was also unattended. Rallinois wasted no time dismantling it, almost frying her fingers on the electrical discharge as she did. She shot the viewscreen for good measure once the tower stopped sparking and then ran off around the next corner. Not a moment too soon either; she caught the dismayed exclamations of another passing squad when they happened upon her work.

All in all, she was able to keep the casualties of her venture low – only five additional kills between the other towers and jammers. Seetoo sent her a robot emoji from the ship’s comm system once her text made it through the newly cleared channels, eliciting a smile. _Good old Seetoo._ She was almost ready to head back to the hangar when it occurred to her that she might want to find and take out the computer the seppies had used to coordinate their remote towers. If it was left intact, all they’d need to undo her hard work was to set up new remotes.

Rallinois started noting the position of the seppies. They weren’t tactical geniuses, which logically meant the most heavily guarded building would house the computer. She found it easily enough and the guard proved lax when the captain successfully slipped inside the front door unnoticed by the street patrols. The two seppies inside were more observant, and Rallinois wasn’t able to get past without shooting them.

She didn’t see a targeting computer array on the ground floor. There were stairs to the second floor to her left, so the captain cautiously crept up them. The upper level was empty except for the computer, so she holstered her guns and got to work. Pulling up the coding, Rallinois frowned when she found it complex in a way she couldn’t override. Well, no reason for her to preserve the hardware. Pulling out a blaster, she fired off several shots to destroy the machine.

Her comm pinged. Pulling it out, Rallinois saw _Corso Riggs_ flash on the display. She accepted the call while she checked the rest of the room.

_“Captain, you there?”_ he asked, _“We got trouble back at the hangar!”_

“What do you mean, trouble?” she bit out, ticked. If anything happened to the _Vow_ or Seetoo, she’d string both members of the ground crew from the hangar ceiling. Starting with Skavak.

_“Separatists are busting into the hangar!”_ Corso exclaimed in a panic, _“We’re giving them a warm welcome, but we could use a hand!”_

Rallinois cursed and started down the stairs, skipping steps. From the comm, she could hear the kid yell at his coworker.

_“Skavak, get over here! Help me seal this hangar door!”_

The line went quiet and the captain assumed he’d hung up until she heard, _“Skavak? What are you–”_

_Now_ the line died out into static. She paused in the doorway of the building when her comm’s security alert went off. It listed both Seetoo and the _Vow_ as compromised. Her heart sunk. Something _very_ wrong was happening at that hangar. Rallinois tore through Drelliad to get back to the hangar, not even caring about the new scorch marks on her favorite red and tan jacket.

There were seppies inside the hangar, moving in on an injured Corso. The captain ducked behind a box and fired on the leader. Both bolts hit him square in the back, burning through his armorweave shirt. His cronies were startled enough that she still had the drop on them, and they each took a bolt to the face. Running to Corso, she dropped to her knees to check his injuries, hissing, “Where’s Skavak?”

He groaned in pain, but nothing that she could see looked life-threatening. Just a blaster burn to his side. It’d hurt like a motherfucker while it healed, but the kid would live.

“Ugh…feels like a gundark[14] used my skull as a drum,” Corso said, rubbing his forehead, “Thanks for saving my hide, Captain.”

The captain glared. She needed to know where his rancid fucker of a coworker was. Acidly, she ordered, “Focus, Corso!”

Engines started just outside the hangar and the noise chilled Rallinois to the bone. The rumble of those ion engines were intimately familiar to her. She scrambled away from the injured crewman only to see the _Tarnished Vow_ fly away into the Mantellian sky. She swore loudly, using all the words she’d been careful not to say in front of Green Eyes. Corso limped up behind her and said bitterly, “Skavak helped those separatists get in here. He stabbed us in the back!”

“I can see that, Corso,” she grit out, seething furiously. The kid didn’t answer and patted for something on his leg.

“Hang on…” he said in confusion, “Where’s Torchy?”

_Torchy? What the **fuck** was a Torchy?_

“I don’t believe this!” Corso exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air, “Skavak stole my blaster!”

A stolen blaster was nowhere _near_ comparable to the crisis this setup had landed her in. Rallinois smacked his arm (not too hard, considering he’d been shot) and yelled, “He boosted my _entire_ fucking ship **_and_** my co-pilot!”

The kid made an apologetic face and tried to reassure her with, “He’s not getting away with this!” before pulling out his comm, angrily punching in a call. While it attempted to connect to the network, he pleaded with the unit under his breath.

“C’mon…c’mon…pick up, blast you!”

A tiny blue image of Skavak appeared. Mockingly, he spread his hands and said, _“Aw, what’s the matter, Corso? Did I hurt your feelings?”_

Then he dropped the faux concern and added, _“Be thankful you’re alive, kid.”_

“A touching thought,” Rallinois said icily, stepping into the comm’s input range, “but I think you have more important things to worry about besides that.”

_“Nah, I think I’m worry free right now,”_ the tiny blue Skavak said, carefree and with a smirk, _“On behalf of Ord Mantell’s glorious freedom fighters, I thank you for your blasters, your ship, and a big laugh. Have a nice day.”_

The connection died, cut from Skavak’s end.

“That sleemo!” Rallinois spat. She kicked the smoking remains a service droid that was conveniently nearby to serve as a receptacle for her fury.

“It’s no use – he cut the comm channel,” Corso said with a sigh, “He always was good at making an exit.”

He tucked the comm away, continuing, “Skavak stole my best blaster, but I guess it’s not as bad as losing a whole starship. I feel for you, Captain.”

_It wasn’t just the fucking starship_ , but apparently the kid didn’t know how important her droid was to her family. Seetoo was now stuck with that thief, at risk of getting wiped; Green Eyes would be _gutted_ if it was. Rallinois opened her mouth, ready to tear Corso a new one when he raised a hand and said, “Listen. Skavak and I were working for a guy named Viidu. When he finds out Skavak’s a separatist, he’ll want revenge just like you.”

She clicked her mouth shut. Rallinois didn’t have any contacts on Ord Mantell at the moment. They’d all jumped off planet when the seppies started getting serious. It was better to skim off of Corso and his boss than attempt to cultivate a new network by herself. The latter option would take too long to be of use, and Skavak would be long gone by the time they were.

“Do yourself a favor and go talk to Viidu in Fort Garnik,” Corso suggested, “I guarantee he’ll help get your ship back.”

With every intention of milking this Viidu’s information network dry, Rallinois stepped into the kid’s space and growled, “I’m holding you to that promise, Riggs.”

He faltered – successfully intimidated – before answering, “Viidu’s a smart guy with connections everywhere. If anybody can find your ship, it’s him.”

The captain stepped away and turned to assess the carnage that was left of the hangar. There were scrapped droids littering the floor next to the smoking corpses of the seppies. Anything valuable looking had disappeared; Skavak had probably stolen all of that too. Corso winced next to her.

“I have to lock down this hangar,” he concluded, “but I’ll send Viidu a holo and tell him what’s up. Fort Garnik isn’t far from here.”

He gave her a half-hearted smile.

“I’ll see you and Viidu there soon, Captain.”

She left the hangar immediately, without offering a farewell. There wasn’t any time for her to waste. Rallinois pulled out her comm to check and see if Green Eyes had left her any new messages. Maybe there was something she could give a short answer to, so the teenager didn’t think the captain was ghosting her.

Green Eyes didn’t come up in the contact list.

Belatedly, Rallinois remembered that she’d left her primary comm with Seetoo. The one she had right now was the spare she’d just purchased last week. She hadn’t programmed her kid’s code into this unit yet – or any of her contacts' codes for that matter, aside from the _Vow’s_. If Skavak took her primary comm from Seetoo, Green Eyes had _no one._

That cheeskar goo[15] was going to wish he were _dead_ when she got her fucking hands on him.

[1] Part of a planetary system on the edge of Core Space, Balmorra’s surface is rich with mineral deposits (particularly iron). This abundance of resources drew manufacturers to set up their factories on the planet. Balmorra is home to the galaxy’s finest droid assembly lines and weapon designers, though the cost of production is a concerning amount of pollution. In the settling of the Treaty of Coruscant, Balmorra was surrendered to the Sith Empire. Though the citizens feel abandoned by the Republic, resistance groups have cropped up to prevent the Empire from taking complete control of the planet.

[2] A specialized computer built into most starships. This computer calculates hyperspace lanes and the current position of planetary systems to produce the safest and fastest route.

[3] A Huttese insult meaning “slimeball.”

[4] Barsen’thor is a ceremonial title bestowed on exceptional Jedi. Prior to the Great Galactic War, only two Jedi have ever received it. The Cerean translation is “Warden of the Order.”

_*I’ve added in an original Jedi character who received the title during the Great Galactic War, which will put the total number at three._

[5] Bone conduction headphones are not inserted into the ear. Instead, they rest on the bone to the front and rear of the ear and vibrate. The vibrations travel to the cochlea and are interpreted as sound.

_*I chose this kind of headset because Twi’leks have bony spikes where ears are usually located on humanoids._

[6] This planet was originally settled by the Republic as a supply depot – which has fallen out of use – and is now covered in massive junkyards. It has since become a lawless haven for criminals, though most residents are actually farmers.

[7] Ryl words for lekku. Tchun refers the the left headtail and tchin to the right. Most Twi’leks will use the words consecutively when referring to both lekku.

[8] The most common type of sublight drive, used to propel starships at speeds below lightspeed. Sublight drives produce a substantial amount of power, which allow a freighter-sized ship to clear an atmosphere in minutes.

[9] When the Treaty of Coruscant was written, the corrupt government of Ord Mantell allied with the Republic. Dissatisfied with their governing body – and by extension the Republic – extremist civilians have begun a civil war with the goal to secede.

[10] A village founded by a famous smuggler named Ulla Drelliad, intended to function as a private retreat. After her death, it expanded into a trading post. The village landing pad – which used to be Ulla’s personal docking bay – is a highly contested location in Ord Mantell’s civil war because it is one of the few still standing on the planet.

[11] A holdout blaster typically used by the Naboo. It’s well known for being small but deadly, and is often referred to as the Diplomat’s Blaster.

_*I know this gun was featured in The Phantom Menace (approx. 3600 years after when this story is set) but I really like this blaster, so I’m including it anyway. Pretend it works out – suspension of disbelief and all that._

[12] A parting phrase in Ryl that has no translation.

[13] The rarest of Twi’lek skin phenotypes, the members of the subgroup that exhibit red skin are called Lethan Twi’leks.

[14] An anthropoid from Vanqor that is one of the most aggressive non-sentient species in the galaxy. Coming in at 1 to 2.5 meters tall, gundarks have four arms and two legs, all with opposable digits. They are intelligent enough to use simple tools and live in tribes of family units.

[15] Huttese insult meaning “betrayer” or “cheater scum.”


	6. The One with Many Annoying Snipers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With no ship and no way to get off of Ord Mantell quickly, Rallinois is left relying on Corso’s boss in Fort Garnik. What should have been an uneventful hike gets turned into an impromptu firefight when separatist snipers set their sights on the captain.
> 
> Warnings: swearing, violence, death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Added two canon conversations and revised the planning session. Also expanded footnote list for this chapter.

_Ord Mantell, 10 ATC – Rallinois_

Pacing a line outside the hangar, Rallinois attempted to get her anger under control. Her temper wasn’t her finest trait and she tended to make mistakes when she got too riled up. Mistakes would not help her get back in contact with Green Eyes and Seetoo. Flicking her tchin back of her shoulder, she did her best to get her bearings through her rage over this latest disaster. She needed to recount her assets.

Comm unit?

Check, but her only contact was Corso (Skavak had already blocked this unit’s number on the _Vow)_.

Guns?

Check.

Ammunition?

Also check, but she’d need to scrounge up a regular supply.

Functional clothing?

Mostly. Her jacket might need to be replaced.

Rations?

Nope.

The local med droid should have some available for purchase. Drelliad didn’t have a speeder pad anymore – it was now the crater she’d seen earlier – so she’d have to walk. Too bad there weren’t any abandoned vehicles nearby that she could hotwire. Two standard weeks’[1] worth should be enough to get her to Fort Garnik. They were pricier than usual; the civil war had destroyed many of the local farms. Rallinois was able to pay using the credit stick she’d gotten from Skavak. It was loaded with her full reward from the job, thankfully. She’d have been fucked without that.

Ok. Rations – check.

Money?

Sort of. She had the credit stick, but none of her access cards. She wouldn’t be able to pull funds from her intergalactic banking accounts without them. Hopefully, Seetoo would keep those hidden from Skavak. Losing her nest egg would hurt.

She’d been saving up to buy a semi-permanent home. Green Eyes had mentioned that she was from Coruscant and living arrangements on the capitol world were hard to come by and _very_ expensive. Rallinois had been scrimping and saving for years, hoping that if she could offer a stable home for her kid then she would…actually she wasn’t even sure what she was hoping for.

Nebulous intentions aside, it was a large amount of money to lose. She’d been saving for an entire condo – with a personal garage bay for the _Tarnished Vow_ and everything – not some apartment that was little more than a box. Whatever place she managed to land needed to be big enough for Green Eyes to bring friends over without feeling embarrassed. Hypothetically. The girl was reluctant to open up long enough to make connections with sentients her age, and Rallinois had never heard her mention any friends.

Speaking of money, she hadn’t stopped by that sergeant for her payment on the jammers. In her defense, she’d just gotten robbed and had been in a hurry. She stopped pacing and headed back over to the last spot she’d seen him. He was still there, talking to another sergeant who hadn’t been with him earlier. The dark-haired Zabrak[2] woman was wearing a Republic standard blue uniform instead of armor. Rallinois’ lip curled; she knew a green recruit when she saw one. They were always annoying self-righteous and self-important.

She caught both sergeants’ attention when she squatted down next to them. Her client grinned and said, “Glad you made it back in one piece! Me and my squad owe you one.”

“No problem,” she answered, more politely than she normally would have with military personnel. Customers didn’t like paying up to a rude smuggler and she needed this money more than her pride allowed her to admit aloud.

“Thanks to you we’re cutting through the separatist interference. Be reporting back to base in no time,” he said, and then rummaged through his utility belt. He handed her a credit stick.

“Here–” he added, “a little something from our private stock. Watch your hide out there, hero.”

While he went back to fiddling with his headset, the Zabrak sergeant offered her hand to Rallinois. She accepted the gesture, though warily.

“Sergeant Blyes here tells me you’re responsible for busting those seppie jammers,” the sergeant said, “Nice work, for a civilian.”

“Thanks,” Rallinois said, unable to keep sarcasm completely from her tone. The Zabrak introduced herself as a Sergeant Xubé Triz and Rallinois instantly recognized the insignia printed on her uniform. The captain wasn’t sure why a Havoc Squad[3] member was chatting her up, but her past experiences with high level military groups implied that it wouldn’t be anything worthwhile for her business. When it became clear that the sergeant didn’t have a job to pitch, she made her excuses and walked briskly away in the direction of the fort.

Ord Mantell was muddier than the last time she’d visited. Slogging through it acutely reminder her of the new speeder tucked away on her ship. It had been worth every damn credit she spent on it and now she couldn’t even use it. Working with Skavak had been a mistake. Flicking sludge away with a sharp twist of her ankle, Rallinois promised herself that she’d never take on the ground crew’s work ever again. It left her resources too exposed.

Grumbling to herself wasn’t an ideal way to pass the time, but it was better than fretting over Green Eyes. There wasn’t anything she could do on her kid issue right now and the faster she walked, the sooner she’d get revenge. The pace Rallinois had set for herself would have been punishing to a different Twi’lek. Thankfully, she’d never let her moderate success get to her head. For business purposes, she maintained a fighting figure that was rare among her species; not many Twi’leks bulked up the way Rallinois did.

That being said, it was a sunny day and she could feel herself getting dehydrated only a few hours into the muddy hike. There was a relatively clean boulder in the middle of the path up ahead. She’d take both a drink and a short break there.

When she reached it, Rallinois leaned against the boulder. It had been a while since she’d needed to walk so far, but she supposed this was her punishment for skipping leg day last week. Unhooking her new canteen, she went to pop the cap off when a flash of light caught her eye in the distance.

Rallinois threw herself into a roll to avoid the blaster bolt that followed. _Fucking snipers._ They were almost more annoying than recruits. Muttering several unflattering insults, she ducked behind the boulder and deployed her portable shield behind her. She’d rather not get sniped from behind (again) before she could off the first offender.

It was the right choice. Another bolt glanced off the shield and disappeared into a shower of sparks. She turned to face the second sniper. The boulder was larger than her shield and covered her back better. Another bolt gave her a trajectory to aim in. Readying her guns, she waited for another flash of reflected sunlight.

_There._

This sniper was closer than the first one and definitely in range of her blasters. She clipped their shoulder with her first shot. When they lurched back, a bolt from her second gun hit them square in the chest.

One down.

Collapsing her shield, Rallinois hefted it in her hand before lobbing it over the boulder and dashing out from behind it. She barely evaded a shot aimed at her feet. The shield activated about a third of the way to where she’d marked the first sniper; now she just had to make it there and hope that got her in range. Another bolt caught the edge of her jacket, but the captain managed to slide behind her shield before they got a closer shot.

Taking aim, she fired a test shot at the boulder the sniper was using for cover. The red bolt burnt into the rock, leaving a smoking black mark. _Excellent._ Adjusting her blaster just a bit higher, she waited for their head to pop back out. She fired three times when they did – out of spite – and was very satisfied when all three made contact. Collapsing her shield, Rallinois reattached it to her belt.

Her clothes were absolutely filthy now, but she didn’t want to linger here any longer and broke into a steady jog. They could be cleaned once she was in a secure location. Eventually, she came to the crest of a hill and paused to catch her breath, legs burning. By now, the mud was heavily worn into her clothes and Rallinois wasn’t sure if she’d be able to salvage them. She’d just buy new clothes at the fort and eat the loss.

Putting that thought out of mind, she surveyed the area from her vantage point. At the base of the incline, she could see a few sad little tents where the trail forked. A nearby pole was flying the Republic flag, but she didn’t take that as a sure sign. Seppies could have offed all the troopers there and left the flag up as a smokescreen. She made her way down the hill cautiously.

They hailed her once she was in earshot. Probably not Seppies then, not that rooming with Pubs for the night was much more reassuring. She doubted she’d find a better spot to rest before sundown, and Republic troops could be friendly on occasion to smugglers like herself.

“How do,” said the highest ranked soldier – a young human, probably in his early twenties, “Private Wesner. Thirty-first Recon out of Fort Garnik.”

She offered him a hand, and gave a friendly nod towards his squad before introducing herself with, “Captain Ven.”

“Watch your head out there. Separatists have deployed snipers in the area last week. Good snipers,” the private said, “Plenty of casualties between here and Fort Garnik. Those seps will shoot at anything.”

“Yeah, I figured that out myself,” Rallinois said dryly, holding up the scorched edge of her jacket, “There were two of them in the valley I just came through and they sure got trigger happy when they noticed me. You’d think they wouldn’t fire on people who aren’t wearing Republic armor.”

One of the squad members – likely their tech support – scrambled for a datapad and made a note, probably for their next report to the fort. She’d need to touch base with them to make sure those added snipers were listed as neutralized.

“Soldiers. Vehicles,” Wesner said bitterly, listing off the sniper targets, “Civilians – especially the refugees, from all the war-torn settlements. They pass through on their way to the refugee camp outside Fort Garnik. Boom. Sniper bait.”

“That’s despicable!” she spat, blood boiling. Green Eyes had been one of the many refugee children seeking a safe haven after the war. If a sniper had set their sights on her kid then, she’d probably have gone on a rampage. No child deserved to be murdered over the political disagreements of adults. It was a _very_ significant black mark on her opinion of the Mantellian separatists. Rallinois would be firmly aligned against them while she was on planet.

“We’ll take any gun we can get,” the private said, with the familiar tone of a job about to be pitched, “Fort Garnik wants those snipers retired ASAP. Commander Vray even offered a week’s pay to anyone who makes it happen.”

“That’s a tempting offer, Private,” the captain said, already burning for action, “I think I’d like to do something about this nest you’ve got.”

“If you take out the snipers, report to Commander Vray at the refugee camp outside Fort Garnik,” Wesner answered with a smile, “Good hunting.”

The private returned to surveying the nearby hills with his macrobinoculars.[4] Rallinois made a beeline for the soldier who’d been taking notes on their datapad. Once she’d confirmed the kills with them on the snipers she’d already encountered, the soldier loaded up their satellite images to her comm. Heat signatures showed the seppies camping in an abandoned farmstead with a deployment rotation of six snipers.

On her own, Rallinois could probably handle three active snipers and hit the camp, but the rest would get enough warning to scurry away. They’d only regroup, return with more numbers, and it would be like the captain hadn’t done anything at all. She’d need a bit of an assist with this job. Wesner would be able to give her the gist on how much help was on its way from the fort and whether his own squad could be of any use. Approaching him from behind, she tapped his shoulder.

“Hey Wesner, I’ve got a couple of questions.”

Lowering the macrobinoculars, he said, “Ask away, Captain.”

“I was wondering if Fort Garnik was lining up a team to come handle the snipers,” Rallinois answered, “There are a few more than I can handle in a single sweep, so I was hoping to collaborate.”

The private shook his head.

“Troops are already spread thin as it is. It’s just me and half my recon team out here; the snipers took out the rest of us.”

“How many of your troopers are cleared for combat?” she asked. Without a team from the fort, she’d need to utilize as much of Wesner’s team as she could. Rallinois wasn’t going to put someone in a firefight they weren’t cleared for, so she needed a realistic idea of who could participate.

“All of us except our tech support,” Wesner said, looking interested, “Do you have a plan in mind?”

“I’m running through some options right now. It might be a bit,” she said, rubbing her chin and accidentally smeared mud across her face. _Ugh._ That was going to be a distraction from her planning.

“Actually, do you have anything I can use to wash up with first?”

Private Wesner directed her to his medical officer, who provided her a small bucket of water and a sponge. Pity they didn’t have a portable sonic[5] out here, but a bucket bath was better than nothing. Getting the mud off her tchun tchin felt heavenly and left her longing for a warm bath. Hopefully Viidu had a nice enough place in Fort Garnik that he had actual running water instead of just sonics. She also made a note to require water capacities for the fresher in whatever place she bought on Coruscant.

For a moment, she also considered dumping her jacket into the bucket…but decided against it. There was no way it would dry before they needed to move against the snipers and the damp fabric would just get filthy again in minutes. Fighting in soggy clothes also wasn’t a fun experience. Chafing wasn’t something she wanted to add to her list of problems.

Feeling moderately cleaner, she had Wesner round up his team so they could discuss their options. If they agreed to whatever plans she managed to concoct, she still didn’t like the idea of sending three recon soldiers against the same number of snipers. Luckily, Rallinois was used to coordinating attacks when dealing with a team disadvantaged in both numbers and skill. The soldiers should follow her orders in the field better than a ragtag group of smugglers.

Before she’d even gotten through how she was splitting the snipers’ territory, Sergeant Triz showed up. Rallinois wasted no time in recruiting the sergeant for their job; Triz should be able to handle at least two of the snipers by herself – unless she wanted to tarnish Havoc Squad’s reputation. That left only one seppie for Wesner’s group, which bumped their odds of survival up into a favorably high range. It also gave Rallinois more leeway on planning their advance; a group of six had more options than one of five.

As the individual with the most field experience, Rallinois insisted on giving herself the riskiest area like she’d originally planned. Wesner’s team wouldn’t be able to handle the camp, and she couldn’t trust a spec ops rookie with the main objective. Predictably, Triz attempted to argue her way into getting the captain’s zone, eager to earn her stripes. Rallinois didn’t have time to stoke the sergeant’s ego and viciously pointed out that Triz had obviously just finished boot camp before getting shipped out to Ord Mantell. Legendary black ops team or not, she wasn’t qualified in Rallinois’ eyes.

Triz had gone quiet and accepted her own assignment of two field snipers without further complaint, allowing Rallinois to move on to their first strategic obstacle. Wesner’s camp was poorly placed in the lower part of the vale and the snipers’ held the high ground. An unorthodox approach would work best, which was how Rallinois ended up convincing the troopers to ruin their spare blankets.

Covering the fabric with enough mud would make it indistinguishable from the Mantellian terrain, and the planet’s humidity would keep the mud from caking and flaking off. The troopers could advance at a crawl underneath, provided they took advantage of the deeper shadows at sunrise or sunset. It wasn’t the most efficient method, but it was going to keep them alive long enough to reach what little remained of the native tall grasses.

Triz had wanted to rush the hills – exposing herself as a tactical novice and displaying a disturbing lack of regard for the lives of her fellow soldiers. An open advance would get them all killed. Thankfully, Wesner sided with the captain.

The next problem was figuring out a way to keep their weapons clean. Crawling through mud was a surefire way to jam a blaster and render it useless. Even Rallinois’ specialized synthleather holsters weren’t designed to keep that much mud out. Sergeant Triz spoke up again, a little more sedately than she had before, and this time her suggestion of recycling armor sets was actually useful. Armorweave[6] and plasteel were both normally mud resistant, perfect for constructing protective weapon canisters with. Wesner objected to defacing the armor of his fallen comrades, but deferred to the captain when she greenlighted the sergeant’s idea.

Since they were already repurposing the armor sets, they were able to solve their third problem at the same time. The spare helmets could be used as decoys to draw the snipers into revealing their positions. The attack was already planned for planetary sunset, which would make reflections easier to spot. Rallinois also gutted the comm system from her decoy helmet and fashioned a headset for herself.

None of Wesner’s squad had been Twi’leks or Zabrak, which meant there wasn’t any spare headgear for her or Triz. The private was kind enough to hand over some nightsight goggles[7] for them to use. Most of the fight would be after sunset and as the main fighters, they needed to be able to see. The troopers’ had the function built into their HUDs,[8] but Rallinois didn’t think they’d end up needing to use the feature since they were only assigned a single target.

The other problem about the lack of modified helmets was that her tchun tchin were entirely exposed. Rallinois regretting leaving her armorweave tchun tchin socks[9] behind on the _Tarnished Vow_. They were custom made, with little hooks attaching to her headband to keep them from sliding off. The set also had a strap that went underneath her chin, just in case the hooks failed. For now, the captain was making do by wrapping her tchun tchin with strips of spare armorweave from their homemade weapon canisters. She tied them to her headband, but they weren’t as secure as the socks and she wouldn’t have time to adjust them in the field if they slipped.

It had taken the rest of the daylight hours, but the entire group was now fully prepped. After checking each trooper to make sure they’d securely attached their mud blankets to their armor, she switched her comm to their secured channel. She gave the go for the advance. Wesner and his two soldiers began crawling up the middle of the rise. Triz started jogging down the path to their right and Rallinois to the left. When she came to the predetermined location, she double checked her disguise and delved into the mud on all fours. Her clothes would never be clean again after this, but the cost of new garments was well worth ensuring the safety of refugee children.

Once she reached the first boulder large enough to crouch behind, she pulled out her decoy helmet. It took a few tries to balance it on the rock in a spot where it would catch the fading light. A flash in the distance was followed by a blaster bolt that _barely_ missed the helmet. _In range._ She moved the helmet back (as if it were a reacting trooper) and popped open one of her blaster canisters. When Rallinois had the gun ready, she set the helmet back out and set her aim at where she’d seen the flash.

There it was again. She fired and the answering bolt went wide. The sniper fell partially out from behind their hiding spot and didn’t move again. _First kill._ The readings they’d taken on her zone had indicated two more were out and about. The other five were at their base camp on the abandoned farm. Stowing her gun back in the canister, she retrieved her decoy and set out for the next sniper.

The sun had almost finished setting when she took out the second sharpshooter as well as the field scout that had been with them. The channel buzzed to life as she was putting away her blaster pistol. It was one of the women in Wesner’s command, clearly distressed.

_“Our zone is green. We lost Private Wesner before we could neutralize the seppie, but we’re green.”_

_Well shit._ Wesner had been alright for a Pub. Rallinois unmuted her comm and said, “Retreat back to base as planned. We’ll run a retrieval for his body tomorrow. Copy?”

She received a strangled, _“Copy,”_ before the soldier disconnected. Rallinois switched to one of the private channels she’d had opened before leaving camp and ordered, “Home base, this is Ven. Hail me when your two troopers make it back.”

Once she got confirmation that the command had been received, she swapped over to the sergeant’s private channel and asked, “Triz: status update?”

_“Alive and mobile, Ven. I’ve got two more marks before I’m done.”_

“When you are, go back to home base and make sure the troopers don’t do anything reckless,” Rallinois instructed the rookie, trusting her to maintain the discipline associated with Havoc, “Nighttime retrievals never go well. Do not let them out of your sight.”

Then she muted herself on all of the channels and continued scouring her zone for the last patrolling seppie. Sniper #3 almost got the jump on her, but they went down hard once they revealed their position to her. Rallinois hadn’t put her nightsight goggles on yet and with the sun sinking further below the horizon, she’d literally almost been stepped on when the sniper started heading back to their camp to rotate out. A little brawling in the mud had saved her – thanks to how squishy snipers always were. The day she met a sharpshooter that was also skilled at hand to hand would be a day she was very impressed.

_“Troopers have arrived at home base,”_ the tech specialist announced over the general comms, _“No visible injuries.”_

_“Copy that,”_ Triz acknowledged, _“I’ve just finished up and I’m heading back.”_

“Advancing on base camp now,” Rallinois added, “I’ll get in touch when I’m done.”

_“Ten-four, **[10]** Ven. May the Force be with you.”_

Rallinois muted her comm just before the snort escaped her. She was so used to reading that line in texts from Green Eyes that it sounded utterly ridiculous when said out loud.

_Ok. Focus on the mission, Rall._

Donning the nightsight goggles and powering them on, she was able to scan the surrounding terrain. Looked like all five of her remaining snipers were still camped out at the nearby farm. Ditching her mud blanket in favor of moving freely among the Mantellian grasses, she made a beeline towards her last set of coordinates. She kept a careful eye out for her targets as she pressed forward.

Once she could see the farm homestead, she toggled the zoom feature on the goggles. _Aha._ One sniper standing guard and looking very bored. She ducked lower into the grass and popped open both of her canisters. A meticulously aimed shot later and that sniper was toast. Advancing slowly through the grass, she kept a steady eye and gun on the dark doorway. No one came out. They must not have noticed the loss of their watchman.

As she got closer to the farmstead, she was able to see that it was a crumbling, bombed out shell of a building. It looked like it had been that way for at least a decade too. The carved family name by the door was only partially legible, heavily damaged over the years of civil war. The name started with a herf,[11] but she couldn’t be sure in the dim lighting. Rallinois moved on.

The building was ruined enough that it probably didn’t have power – even if it had functional generators – so she left the goggles on as she entered, guns ready. A peek around the corner of the front passage showed her several makeshift cots, two occupied. The other two seppies were playing cards next to a small lamp and laughing at whoever they thought their watchman had just shot. They weren’t even remotely paying attention to their surroundings, which Rallinois found surprising for a pair of snipers.

It played to her advantage despite her disappointment in her opponents because it made them that much easier to kill. Startling awake at the sudden blaster fire, the last two snipers were sleep disoriented enough to make the rest of her job easy. Then she picked up as many sniper rifles as she could carry and started heading back to the Republic camp. No point in leaving the guns out for more seppies to find later.

“Ven here,” she said, flicking on her mic, “Base has been neutralized and I’m heading back now.”

Unexpectedly, it was Sergeant Triz that answered.

_“Good work, Ven. All three troopers are down for the night. Their medic tranqed the other two when they tried to leave camp. She went to bed when I got back.”_

Rallinois sighed.

“I knew they’d try something dumb. Thanks for holding down the fort, Sergeant. Is your current head count still three?”

_“Just doing my job, Ven. I can see all three troopers right now.”_

The captain rolled her eyes. That was an unusually humble line from Triz.

“Thanks anyway. I’ll see you soon.”

_“Affirmative.”_

Adjusting the straps on the rifles, Rallinois picked up the pace as best she could in a mud filled wasteland. There were more than a few moments when she almost slipped and brained herself, but she managed to get back to the tents muddy and unharmed. Triz – who was still standing next to the holotable[12] – looked just as filthy. The sergeant gave her a nod as she dumped the stolen rifles next to the other weapons.

Triz also pointed her to a bucket of water and a rag. The contents looked murky and used, but it’d be sufficient to remove most of the grime. Rallinois scrubbed the mud from her skin and got as much off her clothes as she could. Then she called it a night and crashed on the cot that had belonged to Private Wesner, leaving the sergeant to keep watch.

[1] Standard weeks are five days long.

[2] A near-human carnivorous species originating from the planet Iridonia. The most striking feature of Zabrak are their vestigial horns that grow in crown-like patterns and begin coming in at puberty. There are several subspecies of Zabrak, usually identified by their skin color – which can range from humanoid tones to reds or yellows. They are also differentiated by the style of tattoos received during their rite of passage. Additionally, Zabrak have two hearts and high resistance to physical pain. They tend to be determined to the point of single-mindedness.

[3] Republic infantry squad 326. It gained notoriety under the command of Jace Malcom and later Jek Kardan during the Great Galactic War. The current commander is Harron Tavus.

_*I will be adding an extra CO between Malcom and Kardan._

[4] A set of binoculars. Some models are able to see into space from the surface of a planet. They are generally considered inferior to electrobinoculars because they lack an enhancement chip that improves the viewing range and they cannot switch between day and night modes. However, macrobinoculars are more affordable and more durable than electrobinoculars, making them a popular choice among bounty hunters and military requisition officers.

[5] Also called a sonic shower, which is used for hygiene. A sonic is more efficient that a shower that uses water, since it uses ultrasonic vibrations to simply vibrate dirt or grim off of the user. This is generally the kind of shower installed on starships in order to conserve water during space travel.

[6] Armored fabric that can (to an extent) dissipate blaster bolts and offer some resistance to lightsaber attacks.

[7] Night vision goggles that allow improved vision in low light, though they distort all visible colors to varying shades of green. A sudden flash can overload the goggles and temporarily blind the user.

[8] An acronym for heads-up display. An HUD is a viewscreen projection inside a helmet that functions as a combat aid. It can display maps, access databases, enhance the user’s field of vision, etc.

[9] Fitted tubes of armorweave that cover lekku.

_*This is a piece of armor I made up since I couldn’t find any canon armor to protect lekku._

[10] Numerical radio code for “Copy that.”

[11] The Aurebesh equivalent of the letter H.

[12] A large table with a holographic display that can be used to play games, watch holorecordings, or make holocalls. Some also come with programming to display terrain and simulate battlefields.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a while because I had to fix Rallinois' timeline to fit with the two week time frame I'd set for everyone else. I think it turned out alright for something I wrote mostly on the fly. And sorry about Private Wesner.


	7. The One with An Arrest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now on Nal Hutta, Arkosua has to make his way through Jiguuna’s dangerous streets. Once he does, he will receive his first official assignment from Imperial Intelligence. He also runs into someone unexpected after the mission briefing.
> 
> Warnings: swearing, implied violence, dead bodies, reference to surgery

_Nal Hutta, 10 ATC – Arkosua_

The shuttle Arkosua had bought a ticket for had an actual seating bay. Registered transports were far superior to slumming it up in a spice runner’s cargo hold, regardless of the ship’s classifications. For one, official transports were required to pass health and safety regulations. He didn’t even want to think about all the bacteria he’d picked up from his previous ride – at least not until he was cleared for a comm call home. Mother would gladly commiserate with him once she stopped scolding him about his hair.

He was trying not to keep worrying about the ID chip when the same reeking Rodian from the last shuttle entered the cargo bay and found their assigned seat right next to his. Somehow in the few hours since he’d last seen them, they’d gotten into something that made them smell even _worse._ The seats weren’t spaced far enough apart to prevent all bodily contact and the Rodian’s arm was now pressed against his sleeve _again_. All Arkosua could think about was the smell getting smushed into the fabric of his shirt. He doubted he’d be able to get the stench washed out.

He wanted to scream like he was three years old again.

The seating was still quartered closely enough together that he didn’t bother pulling out his datapad. Cataloguing his impressions of Nar Shaddaa would have to wait for when he acquired lodging. However, without his favored pastime, Arkosua had nothing to distract himself from the distinctly Rodian odor sitting next to him. It was starting to make him nauseous again and he really didn’t want to get sick inside the cargo bay.

Fortunately, no one was attempting to make conversation with him this time, which allowed Arkosua to focus on a breathing exercise. He sank so deeply into it that he was mildly startled when the shuttle’s ramp opened. The sweltering heat rushed into the seating bay. It was vastly different from the crisp and freezing air of Csilla. The balmy, toxic swampland outside the ship was the most unappealing environment he could think of. Hoth would have been preferable, but his poor luck had landed him a mission here on Nal Hutta instead.

Arkosua lingered while unbuckling his safety belt to ensure that he wasn’t the first one off the ship. The stinking Rodian hurried off among the first few passengers attempting to get through security quickly. Continuing his breathing exercise, Arkosua found a place near the middle of the forming line. His jumbled nerves were doing nothing to ease his nausea. _Stars above,_ he’d always hated identity checks in the simulations and a live mission made it even worse.

A Gamorrean[1] enforcer waited near the entrance to the spaceport, shadowing a Weequay[2] official who was checking ID chips with a scanner. Though Arkosua could build a plasteel scrambler from scratch, his limited hacking repertoire always left him reliant on an unknown factor. Stomach roiling, he hoped the agent he’d met up with on Nar Shaddaa hadn’t botched her coding. After a few strenuous minutes, it was his turn to get scanned. Arkosua held his breath reflexively.

The scrambler made the first pass.

Arkosua let out a slow and shaky breath once he was out of the guard’s earshot. Matching the pace of the growing crowd, he moved on into the spaceport. He wiped his hands on his pants anxiously as he did; this planet was far too warm. The chip data could still fail the secondary sweep that Hutts often included in their security checks. Better to be out of the spaceport before they noticed the forgery and began hunting him. Chancing a look over his shoulder, he caught sight of a few Gamorrean guards on the move coming towards him.

_Shit._

_Shit shit shit shit shit._

Scanning the area for a potential hiding spot, he spotted an elderly human stumbling a short distance in front of him. As the old man fell, he dropped a crate of droid components and scattered them across the floor. A joint skittered to a stop near Arkosua and he bent over to snatch it. He collected other parts as he came up to the old man, ignoring the disgruntled insults aimed at both of them. The foot traffic adjusted as he’d expected it to, partially obscuring them from the guards’ view.

A furtive glance over his shoulder clocked the enforcers’ location. They were almost level with him, but he was well below their eyeline. Arkosua dumped his armload of dismantled droid into the old man’s box, heart hammering. His fingers twitched towards his hidden knife, though it wouldn’t give him much of an advantage over the well-armed Gamorreans.

The guards walked past without pausing and seized the smelly Rodian.

That was a gratifying sight.

He let out a soft sigh of relief and continued to gather parts from the floor. The old man gave him a grateful nod when they finished picking up the mess. Arkosua was pleased enough with the scrambler’s success that he gave him a small smile back. The enforcers were dragging the Rodian away in handcuffs as he helped the old man lift the box. He wiped his hands on his pants again; though he was no longer panicking, the high temperature wasn’t helping him calm his racing pulse.

It was a good thing he’d avoided detection so far. Sure, he’d been noticed – that was inevitable because of how insular the Ascendency was – but he hadn’t garnered any suspicion yet. The few times that had occurred in his training ops, it had ended in blood. Such were the problems of having striking features and being a Chiss roaming abroad. Arkosua had adapted well enough to those detriments that Intelligence had determined that his functionality in the field currently outweighed those risks. Now that his hair was dyed as well, it lessened his memorability to bystanders and increased his chances of passing this final test.

Outside the spaceport, Arkosua moved on the next step of his mission. He needed a secure holoterminal[3] to establish contact with his new handler. With that prerogative came the added bonus of getting out of the sunlight. Pulling up a map of Jiguuna[4] on his comm, he determined that there was only one cantina in the city large enough to offer lodging (aside from the one in the local Hutt palace).

Sectors along the main route to the building were highlighted in red. Curious, Arkosua tapped on one. A Huttese label popped up, listing the area as a contested zone in the current gang war. He wasn’t fully equipped for combat. Best to avoid those parts of the city, though he’d need to monitor how they shifted. He’d rather not get surprised by some enterprising gangsters.

Then he looked at the distance listed between his chosen cantina and the spaceport and swore. That was a long walk he’d rather not take. Checking the balance on his currency stick, he muttered another curse under his breath. There wasn’t enough wupiupi left on it to rent a speeder. Thanks to the purchases he’d made to disguise his appearance, Arkosua was well and truly broke. Looked like he was going on foot after all.

So much for being punctual.

Aside from familiarizing himself with the city’s layout, walking through Jiguuna had another benefit: he could loot any bodies he found on his way. Most of them had already been stripped of anything immediately valuable, but he’d managed to collect several international banking cards. He knew enough about slicing to make an encrypted withdrawal from the accounts without flagging any system warnings and he could do it all on his comm. It was nice to have replenished funds.

Even better, Arkosua ran into a lone gangster and was able to get the drop on them. None of the previous corpses had weapons left on them, and now he had first pick on loot. He had no qualms in stealing from them – a dead body didn’t need a rifle. Inspecting it while he continued his walk, he confirmed that it was functional. Though the blaster rifle wasn’t high quality in make or model, the barrel was straight and the power pack was halfway charged. Since it was better than nothing, he slung it over his shoulder.

Four hours later, he was finally walking up the incline to the _Poison Pit_. The Gamorrean bouncer at the entrance didn’t even bat an eye when he walked in – to his relief – and he went to the front desk to request a private room. It cost more than half the wupiupi he’d collected during his walk (typical for a Hutt world), but the room was his for the next full Huttan day. Arkosua didn’t give a name for his room and left the desk once he’d received his room key and a complimentary glass of…something? It was probably alcoholic.

Once in the room, he did a sweep for bugs. He found two audio transmitters, which were promptly drowned in the unknown drink. Then he began slicing the holoterminal. It was a repetitive task at this point, since he’d been required to master hacking comms and terminals. Opening a secure channel to his handler’s frequency, Arkosua decided to do a little digging while he waited for them to come online. It was too easy to access the cantina’s personnel files through the holoterminal; they needed to upgrade their security.

Most of the files were for cantina employees, all of whom showed to be completely average. And since he was on a Hutt Cartel[5] world, they were naturally all minor criminals of some sort and could be influenced as such if necessary. Moving on to the guest list, he noted that his own room was listed under _Chiss._ A few lines of code later and he’d changed it to _Anonymous._ If someone went through the files, he didn’t want to have a connection made because his room was listed under his species.

There was only one guest file that looked promising. A room on the opposite end of the building was registered under a bounty hunter named Braden. He’d booked enough beds for a team and a quick check of the room details showed four beds but no other names. That was useful intel for later, though it wasn’t a full detail on the team. Arkosua was a distance fighter – specializing as a sniper rather than a brawler – and if he could recruit the hunter’s team, that would give him a few disposable meat shields. He only needed to procure enough funds to hire the team should the need arise.

An image flickered to life on the holoterminal, revealing his supervisor to be a balding human Imperial. Arkosua smoothed back his hair on instinct. Appearances were everything in his line of work, and he passed muster when his handler made no comment on his grooming. The man’s eye paused on his azure locks though, and for a moment, he thought there was a hint of approval beside the scrutiny in the handler’s gaze.

_“Secure transmission established,”_ the man said, _“This is Keeper. We may speak freely, agent; prepare to receive your orders.”_

Arkosua gave his handler a nod, standing at attention. He’d been eager for this opportunity and wanted to prove himself useful.

_“You were chosen for this operation because of your exemplary performance during training,”_ Keeper continued, _“Imperial Intelligence needs agents capable of working independently in the field.”_

Arkosua preened just a bit. He’d clawed his way to top scores against the prejudices of the trainers and it was nice to receive recognition for his hard work.

_“Now you apply your training to the real world,”_ his handler added, _“Nem’ro the Hutt and his organization run Jiguuna, and you’re in town to convince Nem’ro to supply the Empire.”_

Convincing a gangster was easier said than done, particularly if they were a Hutt. Those slugs had been stubbornly neutral during the entire war and had remained so in the intermediary years since. Arkosua was going to need more information before he started poking at the Hutt’s weaknesses. Keeper paused for a moment, so he asked, “What intel do we already have on Nem’ro?”

_“Jiguuna is an industrial town, and Nem’ro runs most of the industry. The Hutt supplies weapons, drugs, and raw materials – but not to us,”_ Keeper answered, _“We believe Nem’ro has been reluctant to lose Republic customers by publicly siding with the Empire. It’s time he overcame this reluctance.”_

That was…little to go on. He’d need to do more recon, which would extend his stay on this swampy planet longer than he’d like it to be. A scan of the atmosphere that he’d taken during his walk had corroborated what he’d read in his briefing. The air of Nal Hutta had enough toxins to be a deadly cocktail if he stayed long term. Arkosua would like to breath as little of it as possible. The first item he’d be shopping for here would be a decent rebreather.

_“We need to know what Nem’ro and his advisors are thinking before we can act,”_ the Imperial admitted, _“I want you to obtain access to the Nem’ro clan’s inner circle. You’ll require a cover identity. One of our contacts – an alien named Jheeg – has prepared a background for you and will provide the details.”_

“Jheeg’s location?” Arkosua asked. It was a bit annoying that Keeper wasn’t going to lay out the cover for him right now, but it was better to keep these encrypted calls short. Less noticeable that way.

_“Jheeg will be waiting for you at a safe house. Locate him, take what he offers, then report to me.”_

As per standard procedure, he wasn’t given a solid location. If this terminal was hacked, it was better not to give away defined coordinates, even if this standard routine sent him on a goose chase across a gang infested city. Holding back a resigned sigh, Arkosua asked, “Is there any other relevant information to my mission?”

_“Most of Jiguuna is caught up in a turf war. Some of the gangs involved belong to the Hutts; others are independent. Your combat training should see you through, but expect brutality, and expect to be targeted,”_ Keeper warned him, _“Jiguuna isn’t friendly to strangers. Now find Jheeg and report back to me. Keeper out.”_

The holocall cut off. Arkosua took a moment to wipe his call and query data from the terminal. Then he dumped out the complimentary beverage in the fresher before leaving his room. The main lobby was sparsely populated, which he supposed could be attributed to the fact that it was still early in the planet’s daily rotation. However, it was more likely that the cantina had unusual hours due to the differing circadian cycles of its clientele: most sentients operated on the standard 24 Imperial hours rather than Nal Hutta’s 87.

A droid in the corner caught his eye, due to the paint marking it as Nem’ro’s. The astromech unit was rolling back and forth nervously, its optical receptor scanning the lobby repeatedly. Its holocom was flashing the Huttese words for _open job,_ but curiously, no one in the lobby was paying the droid any mind. Arkosua moved to approach it, ready to offer his assistance – to earn himself some goodwill from its owner – when his cousin entered the lobby in full bounty hunter gear.

_Ktah. **[6]**_

Arliianer was the last person he needed to run into on an undercover op, but his cousin’s red eyes had already landed on him. The hunter froze and squinted at him. Aborting his approach to Nem’ro’s droid, he briskly advanced on his cousin instead. By the time recognition showed on the younger Chiss’ face, Arkosua had him by the arm and was pulling him into an empty hallway. Hopefully no one in the main room had paid them any attention, but he was just relieved that Arliianer hadn’t blurted out his real name.

His cousin’s black hair was as messy as it had been the last time they’d seen each other, but the scar marring his right eye was new. The injury stood out horribly against Arliianer’s freckly blue-gray face, clearly a few years old. He must have gotten it shortly after Arkosua transferred into Imperial Intelligence. There was definitely an interesting story behind that, which Arkosua suspected involved the fury of both Arliianer’s mother and his own. Those two women were a terrifying force when push came to shove.

He also found that his younger cousin had gotten taller than him in the last three years. It irked him to know that Mother’s prediction of belated growth spurts had been correct. At least Arkosua was still easier on the eyes – even with his hair dyed – as petty as that thought was.

“Surprise seeing you here,” his cousin drawled, clearly in no hurry. Arliianer looked pointedly at his hair and added, “Ardrennia is going to shred you when she finds out.”

“I’m on a job. It was necessary,” Arkosua muttered indignantly, already perfectly aware that Mother’s ire would be invoked against him once she found out. Arliianer sighed deeply, looking disappointed, but his cousin really shouldn’t have expected anything less. When it came to success, Arkosua did everything in his power to attain it – even if it meant committing social suicide by dying his hair.

“Still, it’s a shame. Nice to see you again too,” Arliianer lamented, still relaxed. The agent ground his teeth in frustration. Arkosua was on a job and he _really_ didn’t have time to – _hold on…_

“Why are you even here?” he hissed, “Our mothers blacklisted this planet for a _reason.”_

“I want Nem’ro’s sponsorship for the Great Hunt,” his cousin admitted easily, as if he wasn’t _literally_ standing on a planet with an atmosphere that was actively trying to _kill_ him. The only reason the hunter was even lucid right now was because his cybernetic lungs were sifting out the harmful chemicals.

But once the toxin concentrated air overloaded the specialized lung filters and got into his bloodstream, he’d be toast. The replacement heart would keep Arliianer alive – thankfully – but he would never wake up unless someone changed his filters. The moron couldn’t even use adrenals _or_ stims without getting higher than a kite; what made him think _Nal Hutta_ was a good idea?

_Oh right. The **damn** hunting competition._

The Great Hunt was very familiar to Arkosua. Arliianer had gone on about it for years when he’d discovering the tournament after the procedure that had replaced the majority of his internal organs with cybernetics. Mother had been the one to front the hospital bill and she’d had to sell their family home to do it. They’d all moved into a small apartment on the outskirts of Csaplar; him, Mother, his aunt, and Arliianer. The boys had shared a room once his cousin had gotten out of the hospital. He’d gotten ridiculously excited every time another Great Hunt was called, and Arkosua had been forced to watch the updates with him.

Arkosua’s favorite champion was Jew’la Nightbringer, a Zabrak from Coruscant. He’d thought she was very cool, though he’d never admit it out loud where his cousin could hear.

“How many filter replacements did you bring?” he asked, since his cousin was being cavalier with his wellbeing simply by _being_ here. Their mothers had drilled the importance of proper supply numbers into both of them, but he knew his cousin had often skated through those lectures while daydreaming. It was doubtful that he was adequately prepared.

“Twelve.”

That–

That was not _nearly_ the right number of filters needed to sustain a long term stay on Hutta. Arliianer was either clearly underestimating the obstinance of Hutts or the toxicity of the planet. He added an entire case of filters to his shopping list once he amassed enough funds. Hopefully it would happen before his cousin’s current supply was depleted. Pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation, Arkosua asked, “How many are you carrying right now?”

“Two.”

Arkosua wanted to slam his head into the wall. Jiguuna was in the middle of a _fucking turf war_ and his cousin thought carrying _two_ extra filters was sufficient?! Arliianer’s lungs used four filters! There were so many ways for things to go wrong that his thoughts stuttered to a halt for a moment before picking up into a whirlwind.

_What if they all expired at the same time?_

_What if his extras were damaged in a firefight?_

_What if some desperate sentient stole them to sell on the black market?_

Taking a deep breath and reminding himself that his cousin was only eighteen – with the mental maturity of a nine year old Chiss – and still _incredibly_ new to the ways of the larger galaxy, he ordered, “Go get four more filters. _Now.”_

“But–”

_“Ethar’liia’neri.” **[7]**_

Arliianer made a face at the use of his full name but complied rather than arguing with him, walking towards the room that Braden had rented. The young hunter had always been notoriously stubborn, but years of rigorous health monitoring had at least left him pliant to demands to take it seriously. In most cases, Arkosua would have considered Mother’s hovering tendencies over the top, but Arliianer had been _dead_ for twenty-two minutes before the sch’oktai[8] was able to get the new heart installed. Her overprotective nature had been excused in light of that, and as it turned out, Arkosua had unwittingly inherited it.

He’d rather run afoul with Imperial Intelligence than let his cousin die on his watch.

[1] Green skinned humanoids with pig-like facial features from Gamorr. Their society is managed by the female Gamorreans while the males are left to build their strength and wage war on each other. Due to their inability to speak Basic – because of the shape of their snouts – many consider Gamorreans to be unintelligent.

[2] Humanoid species from a desert planet called Sriluur. They have tough, leathery skin and a frill along the lower halves of their cheeks. Weequays communicate with their clan members using a complicated combination of pheromones; even a Weequay from a different clan cannot understand the pheromonal language specific to a different group. Weequays only take personal names if they live alone among other sentients, though some refuse and are referred to as “Weequay.” They wear a specific seclusion braid when away from Sriluur, which is notably different from their other braids.

[3] The equivalent of a landline or payphone. Holoterminals have a higher range of connection than holocomms.

[4] Jiguuna is an industrial town that was founded by Bakuush the Hutt. After his death, Nem’ro the Hutt took control of the city through blackmail and violence.

[5] An interplanetary criminal syndicate run by the Hutts. They have both an army and a starship fleet, which they use to control entire planetary systems. Though the Cartel did not ally with the Empire during the war, Imperial Intelligence was able to keep them from turning to the Republic. They have since been a neutral party.

[6] A curse in Cheunh, which is the primary language of the Chiss.

[7]Chiss names are formatted as [clan name]’[individual name]’[occupation title]. Their shortened names for everyday use contain the end of the clan name, the entire individual name, and the beginning of the occupational title.

[8] Cheunh word for doctor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added this chapter in because I realized Arliianer hadn't made an appearance yet (oops). Here he is now!


	8. The One Where Arliianer Gets A Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite working as a hunter, Arliianer can’t escape getting babied by his cousin. With an overprotective relative hovering behind him, he still manages to land himself a job. And get involved in several firefights.
> 
> Warnings: violence, death

_Nal Hutta, 10 ATC – Arliianer_

Seeing his older cousin had genuinely come as a surprise. The mothering concern about his health was not; Arliianer couldn’t go a single day without one of his relatives cramping his style. He was _fine._ He was a grown adult and could handle himself. There was even that bounty that he’d just bagged at the spaceport! Proof that he was capable!

Well…kind of. Arkosua was right about the filters. The only reason he didn’t have more on him was because he’d sent them on ahead with the rest of his supplies to Braden. That was better than not having any backups at all, right? Although, knowing Arkosua, that was probably insufficient in his cousin’s eyes. On the bright side, the hovering would mean that Arliianer wouldn’t have to spend his own wupiupi on getting more filters. His cousin would take initiative on that purchase without a second thought.

Inside their rented suite, there were two other sentients besides his employer, Braden. At the holocomputer on the back wall was a human woman with cybernetic enhancements that were much more obvious than his own. The other was a broad shouldered Nikto,[1] seated at a table on the other side of the room, reviewing the state of their weapons cache. Braden – the bald human hunter who was leading their team – was speaking with the young woman.

“We’re almost set up. See if you can’t get that security network running, Mako.”

Mako, who was likely the team slicer, answered, “Sure thing, Braden. We’ll be–”

She looked over her shoulder and saw Arliianer, trailing off with a, “Hey now…”

Braden glanced over as well and smiled when he saw the younger hunter, saying, “Hey, indeed – the main attraction has arrived.”

He turned to address the others.

“Team, this is the man we’re pinning all our hopes on. Best shot I’ve ever seen and nerves of steel. He’s Great Hunt material, all right.”

Arliianer wasn’t sure about that “best shot ever” bit, having witnessed Arkosua’s impeccable scores during shooting drills, but he’d take the compliment. He knew Braden was getting a little old to be a regular in the field, and he probably wanted to keep the younger hunter happy with him. Arliianer was the public face of the team for the competition and he did half remember Aunt Ardrennia’s lectures. _Always present a unified front to your competitors,_ or something else along those lines. Braden turned back to him and asked, “What do you say, hunter? Ready to meet your team?”

“Sure am,” he said, with an easy smile of his own. It was difficult to hide his excitement between the professional façade he’d been trying to curate.

“To win the Great Hunt,” Braden started, “you’ll need support, structure, and intel. Let’s do things official-like.”

He gestured toward the brown-haired cyborg he’d addressed as Mako.

“This is Mako, a little genius I picked up years ago on Nar Shaddaa. She provides intel and tech.”

Mako narrowed her eyes and added, “Hope you’re as good as the old man says.”

Braden ignored the pointed comment and waved at the Nikto next, saying, “And the big bruiser is Jory. He handles the heavy lifting and provides security for our base of operations.”

Jory nodded politely. He offered his own greeting in an unfamiliarly accented Huttese.

“Greetings. I am at your disposal. Feel free to make us all incredibly wealthy and famous.”

The young hunter couldn’t help the quiet laugh that escaped him and said, “You can call me Arliianer. I’m sure we’ll all work well together.

“All right, enough introductions,” Braden said, “Down to business. We’re here because the Great Hunt has been called. Little Mako is the most rabid fan of hunter history this side of Geonosis – and even she doesn’t know exactly what the Great Hunt entails.”

_Really?_ The broadcasts Mom had downloaded for him during his childhood had been rather detailed, if violent. Not that she’d had a realistic scope of how much blood a child should be seeing. He was a little surprised that Csilla got a better rundown of the competition than a Huttese moon did. Or maybe Mom had tapped into some of her remaining shady connections to get nonpublic recordings.

“I do know the names of every Great Hunt winner, though,” the slicer piped in, “Bloodworthy, the Defenestrator, Jewl’a Nightbringer…”

Arliianer did his best to hide his smile at the mention of Nightbringer. His cousin had harbored a well concealed infatuation for her during that iteration of the hunt. He only knew about it because Mom had teased Arkosua in passing about it every time the competition had been brought up during latemeal, to Aunt Ardrennia’s consternation. When Mako took a breath between names, Braden said, “Every bounty hunter who’s won a Great Hunt went on to massive glory and riches – which is why we’re here.”

Perhaps that was why they were interested in the competition. Arliianer saw it as a chance to prove himself to his family. They wouldn’t have to worry about him as much if he did well, and they’d maybe even give him some leeway with the hovering. On the off chance he won his first time participating, Mom could probably get his cousin to back off too. But rather than mentioning any of that out loud (and get pegged by the team as a mommy’s boy) he said, “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Here’s what I know,” Mako said, taking charge of the conversation again, “The Great Hunt has two groups: the Mandalorian elite and the freelance bounty hunters sponsored by influential crime lords. There’s no time to make you a Mandalorian. That means you need a sponsor.”

That was fine with him. As interesting as Mandalorian culture was, there wasn’t time to fully appreciate an immersion into it. He could express his inclinations after the hunt ended, when there was time to get his family recognized as his clan – whether they joined the Mandalorians as well or not.

“Nem’ro the Hutt runs this stinking little town,” Braden added, “I’ve got just enough pull with that gangster to get you an introduction.”

The old hunter looked over to address the slicer.

“Mako, scan for every bounty in the area. I want the nastiest, most brutal, untouchable scum you can find.”

She went back to the holocomputer, typing rapidly. Her eyes had to also be enhanced; the display was flickering through enough screens to make Arliianer nauseous from watching. She was already well into her search when she muttered, “I’m on it, Braden. One nasty character coming up…”

Braden looked back at Arliianer, giving his armor and flight suit a once over. While the bald man stepped closer to further assess the integrity of his chest plate, he said, “We need to get you situated as a big-time hunter, at least as far as the locals know. Then we contact Nem’ro. Mako will plant rumors about your offworld exploits, but you have to take down someone impressive – and local – to sell that reputation.”

“I’m capable,” Arliianer said determinedly, “Whatever bounty I need to take down, I’ll do it.”

“How’s that scan coming, Mako?” Braden asked, nodding in approval at the younger hunter’s resolve.

“Found something,” she called, “Check this out…Vexx: Corellian, champion quick-draw artist, wanted for robbing fifteen Imperial military pay stations.”

Incredulously, Jory asked, “Of all places to get credits, why would a sane being rob an Imperial pay station?”

“Prefect,” Braden cut in, right as Mako opened her mouth to snipe back at the Nikto, “This Vexx is either a madman or a glory hound – and he’s obviously dangerous.”

“Says here Vexx has a safe house in the bad part of town,” Mako added, derailed from her momentary dispute with Jory, “right in the heart of the madness. That’ll be fun.”

“Nem’ro the Hutt’s enemy took over part of this town,” Braden said in explanation to Arliianer, “It’s dangerous poking around in there, but it’s your best shot. Raid Vexx’s safe house and look for something that might help us track him down. Be ready for anything.”

“Understood.”

Arliianer popped open a storage crate that had his name scribbled on it and fished out some extra filters, stashing them in various pockets on his belt. A total of six spares should satisfy his cousin. On his way out of the room, Braden added, “Be safe out there.”

Giving the older hunter a casual salute, he stepped out through the doorway. Out in the cantina lobby, Arkosua was conversing with an astromech. The droid’s paintjob indicated that it belonged to one of the Hutts contesting ownership of the town, but he wasn’t sure whose it was. Hopefully one of Nem’ro’s. He began crossing the room to his cousin, but a dark-skinned human man called him over.

“Welcome to Hutta, kid,” he said, tone bitter, “You’re new here, you look pretty tough, but let me give you a word of advice. Watch your back out there, learn how to please the people in charge, and as soon as you can, get out.”

While his people skills weren’t nearly as polished as his cousin’s, Arliianer did know how to be polite. Aunt Ardrennia had drilled it into both of them, despite his attempts to tune it out when he was younger. Case in point, he gave the man a bland smile and said, “Thanks for the tip,” fully intending to let his cousin know where he was going and be on his way to Vexx’s safe house. Unfortunately, the man kept talking, oblivious to his disinterest.

“There’s a gang war raging out there right now,” he stated, assuming the young hunter was ignorant to the chaos he’d taken a speeder through not an hour before. Arliianer resisted the urge to roll his eyes as the man continued, “If you wanna survive on Hutta, you’re gonna have to learn the ropes. I can get you experience navigating Hutta’s gangs, help you build your reputation, if you help me out.”

_Never do a job for free_ echoed in the back of his head in Mom’s voice. Giving the man a tight smile, Arliianer said, “I appreciate the offer, but I only take payment in currency.”

Ignoring the soft refusal, the human barreled on with, “This is a gangster town, controlled by a greedy and cruel Hutt named Nem’ro – as if there was any other kind. Used to be I worked for Nem’ro’s gang. Violent, bloody life. That’s why I left. But now my little brother’s following in my footsteps.”

Arliianer sighed. Those were dangerous words to say in a Hutt’s territory, but if a kid brother was involved, he supposed he wouldn’t be too put upon to help out. The man, noting his resigned expression, added, “Nem’ro’s street gang leader, Rex Geer, is my old buddy. I though he might help get my brother out, but I can’t get to Rex for all the fighting.”

Coward. If it were Arkosua in the same situation, Arliianer would be halfway across town already to bust him out. His cousin would do the same for him. This man either cared more about his own neck than his brother’s or there was something more to the situation. It better not involve getting him on his potential sponsor’s bad side, but he’d get the dirt easier from the kid. This man didn’t look the type to be upfront.

“You have a location?”

Behind him, he heard Arkosua ask the astromech to replay its message. Rattling off coordinates, the man said, “If you could blast your way through them and talk to Rex – convince him to let my brother go – I’d be grateful.”

“Does grateful mean wupiupi for me?” Arliianer asked, “I’m not interested in a boost to my rep.”

“I told you what you stand to gain in terms of reputation, but if that’s not enough, I think I can swing some credits,” the man acceded. Raising an eyebrow at the offered amount, the young hunter sighed.

“That’s hardly enough for pocket change, but consider me hired.”

“Glad to hear it,” the man said smiling, “You’ll find Nem’ro’s boys holed up in Jiguuna, but you’re gonna need to fight through Fa’athra’s thugs – so be careful.”

Giving him a curt nod, he pivoted to take the few steps to join his cousin by the Hutt droid. The astromech had just pulled up a recorded proclamation of its owner.

_“I am mighty Nem’ro, ruler of Jiguuna!”_ the holorecording began in Huttese, _“Citizens, hear me – my city is under siege from the craven Fa’athra and his followers! These criminals wage illegal war against me in the streets. Eradicate all of Fa’athra’s people who dare to set foot in Jiguuna! Cripple this coward’s army and you will know the honor and rewards of serving the great and powerful Nem’ro the Hutt.”_

Now this was a job he could take with zero reservations. Turning aside to his cousin, he remarked, “That’s an easy way into a Hutt’s good books.”

The droid whistled something in binary that sounded appreciative. Arkosua huffed out a small laugh next to him and agreed, “Indeed it does,” in that crisp Imperial accent he hadn’t had the last time he’d been home. Leading the way out of the cantina, his cousin added, “There will plenty for each of us to earn some favor, so long as you don’t shoot me in the foot again.”

“That was one time!” Arliianer complained, “And I was seven!”

His cousin gave a pointed look to his twin blasters that indicated the incident would not be forgotten anytime soon. Then Arkosua proved himself to be the eavesdropping spy he’d gotten a job as by asking, “Anything else I should know about besides your little job stealing enforcers from a Hutt?”

While it would sell his reputation to the locals more if he caught the Corellian criminal by himself, it didn’t hurt to have some backup. Just in case things went badly, he’d rather his cousin know what he was up to. Easily, he admitted, “Got a bounty on some guy named Vexx.”

“That’ll be fun for you,” his cousin answered with a hum, “Which compartment on your belt has the filters?”

Dutifully, Arliianer revealed each of the six replacements and earned himself a pat on the shoulder for his troubles. As expected, his cousin then asked for the quickest way to access the ports for the filters. The young hunter was pulled into the entrance of an empty building so Arkosua could do a test run removing his chest armor and opening the easy access panel in the back of Arliianer’s flight suit. Once the spy was satisfied, they stepped back out into the street.

They also stepped out into a passing patrol dressed in what Arliianer know knew were Fa’athra’s colors. Stepping inside the nearest thug’s guard, he forewent his pistols for his fists, trusting his cousin to cover his six. When the goon went down hard, he pulled out one of his blasters and took out the fallen enforcer and two of his fellows in neat succession. The rest fell to unnervingly accurate shots from Arkosua’s rifle.

Arliianer saw another Fa’athra squad rounding a nearby corner and charged toward them, leaving Arkosua where he was looting the bodies. His cousin cursed loudly behind him and followed his foul language with a spread of cover fire as the hunter tackled the nearest thug. This group proved as easy to kill as the first, but he still found himself riding the thrill of the brief fight when he turned back to his cousin.

Arkosua was scowling at him, rifle still held in a firing position. The shorter man opened his mouth – presumably to scold Arliianer – when another goon ran out of the alley next to him. By the time Arliianer’s warning was shouted, his cousin had already flipped his rifle and batted his assailant’s blaster from their hands. The young hunter leveled his blaster at the thug and took a shot, but the man had already charged Arkosua despite his lack of another weapon.

The enforcer ended up face down on the street with a vibroblade protruding between their neck and shoulder. Hurrying to his cousin’s side, the spy was already nonchalantly inspecting his rifle’s barrel when he reached him. The weapon was slung over a slim shoulder when it was deemed functional, and that’s when Arliianer noticed the burns on his cousin’s hands. They were a revolting shade of purple, like all burns were on Chiss skin, but it didn’t look like anything a kolto patch couldn’t fix.

Rooting around the downed thug’s pockets while Arkosua cleaned his knife, Arliianer was able to find two of the said patches for his cousin. There was also a set of gloves they could use to cover them. Leveling him with an unimpressed glare, Arkosua began tending the burns while jumping into a lecture about rushing into fights without a solid plan. It sounded horribly similar to another lecture he’d gotten from Aunt Ardrennia after getting his face sliced open. Properly abashed, the young hunter easily provided a promise to exercise increased caution for the rest of their joint excursion.

Appeased by the pledge, Arkosua led their retreat into another abandoned building. Once they were safely inside, he pulled out his comm and opened a map of Jiguuna. There were several red zones that flickered and shifted every few minutes, mapping out the contested areas in real time. Plugging in coordinates, his cousin marked two destinations for them, and then added a third when the hunter gave him the location of Vexx’s safehouse. As the spy plotted out a route between the three coordinates, he asked, “Are you running on Imperial time?”

“I am,” Arliianer answered. It was getting late in the standard day cycle. Jiguuna was a large city and their targets were spread too thinly to cover in a single day. Checking the distance from their current location and the building Arkosua had marked for himself, it looked like they might be able to reach it before turning in for the “night.” The path took them around several red zones, and if those shifted during their journey, altercations with patrols would delay their arrival.

It…seemed needlessly complicated, but Arkosua was a professional spy now. Exposure usually meant death for anyone in that profession, to Arliianer’s knowledge. He supposed he could put up with an extended walk if it ensured his cousin’s continued wellbeing. Technically, he shouldn’t even be aware of Arkosua’s occupation, but the other Chiss had always made exceptions for his relatives. It was how they’d been raised – to put family first.

The contested areas shifted about halfway to their first destination. Despite the resulting delays, it did give them more than enough ID tags to cash in on Nem’ro’s open bounty. Fighting beside (or rather in front of) Arkosua again was nice too. His cousin’s combat style had shifted during his Imperial training, but not enough that it no longer meshed with Arliianer’s. If anything, it made him more terrifyingly efficient.

As nice as it was, he was flagging and he knew he needed to rest soon, even though they were still an hour out. When he narrowly dodged a blaster bolt aimed for his side, his cousin finished the fight quickly. Giving him a scrutinizing look, Arkosua jerked his head towards a crumbling building with a low roof. Arliianer followed his cousin up and found several fabric awnings. Sitting in the shade of the most intact section, Arkosua said, “We’ll change watch in four hours. I’ll start.”

Too tired to argue about sleeping on a stone roof, Arliianer flopped onto the ground next to his cousin. At least they had shade.

[1] A humanoid reptilian species from the planet Kintan that usually have facial spikes or thorns. They also have leathery skin and an extra membrane on their eyelids to protect their eyes from harsh environments. There are five commonly known subspecies of Nikto, and all are capable of interbreeding with each other, with the majority of offspring showing physical characteristics of only one parent. Nikto are also known to be very susceptible to Force mind tricks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My bad on that delay. I wrote an 18 chapter fic (oops) and then got swamped by school.


	9. The One with A Comm To Seetoo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a horrible first experience with battle, Phakrill makes some headway on her first assignment. During a cold night in the Gnarls, she finally gets in touch with Seetoo. What she discovers leads her to engage in dubious behavior to protect the droid.
> 
> Warnings: blood, implied nudity, Force choking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Revised interaction with Master Jard's hologram and reworked the conversation with Skavak.

_Tython, 10 ATC – Phakrill_

The shadows had begun to grow longer by the time she was finally able to form a coherent thought again, and Phakrill realized how tightly she’d wrapped herself in the Force. She relaxed her grip – a little too much. A small gust of wind rushed out from where she’d crammed herself against the rockface, flattening the surrounding grass.

There hadn’t been a single Flesh Raider to come by while she’d been panicking. That was probably because she’d subconsciously tried to suffocate her presence in the Force. She was slightly damp and sticky as she unwrapped her arms from her torso. _Why was she wet?_

Phakrill looked down and almost threw up again.

The blunt tip of the vibroblade must have caught on her side earlier. Her robes were dark with blood and she could smell it now. The wound itself felt like it had clotted, but there was no way she could hide her scent from the Flesh Raiders now. Keeping a hand pressed to it just in case it reopened, she tried to steady her breathing. If she could make it to the river, she could wash her clothes and dress the wound with kolto. It wasn’t safe to stay in this area, not with how long she’d already lingered.

From what she could see from her shallow crevice, the path was empty. Phakrill crept back out to it and looked in the direction she’d come from. No Flesh Raiders there.

The part of the trail that went further into the Gnarls also looked clear and the ground was beginning to slope down into a valley. The first bridge and projector should be just around the bend, according to her coordinates. Cautiously, she began to proceed. As she walked, her stomach began to ache and she belated realized she hadn’t collected any rations from the outpost to bring with her. Everything had been so crowded and busy that it hadn’t even crossed Phakrill’s mind.

That was a _stupid_ mistake. She winced at the absentminded error. Surely such a promising padawan would have thought to bring rations on a potentially dangerous and long assignment? There was no way Phakrill was the Jedi everyone thought she was going to be. How could she ever become that _“paragon of light”_ when she couldn’t even remember that she needed food to eat?

Another hour of walking (while scolding herself for her carelessness) brought her to the river. Her trial was more important than her injury, so Phakrill crossed the bridge about halfway to where the projector was. It looked like it hadn’t been touched during the battles in the training ground. The hologram flickered to life when she activated the mechanism, revealing a human man with ridiculously large sideburns.

_“Activation protocol begins,”_ it said, _“So, after the long silence, finally someone comes. I am Garon Jard. **[1]** Millennia ago, I stood as a founder of the Jedi Order.”_

Master Jard didn’t seem to care that she was visibly rattled, with tearstained cheeks and blood all over her brown robes. She guessed projections didn’t have to worry about appearances though, since they weren’t alive and looked the same no matter what. She bowed to the projection and said, “I have come to relocate your hologram.”

_“To protect without fighting,”_ Master Jard said, _“A trait I wanted at the core of our beliefs. The Jedi may have changed, but galactic peace has always remained one of our goals. Activation protocol complete. Go well.”_

She wasn’t sure how she felt about that viewpoint, though she did feel that diplomatic options should be explored first. Phakrill had already had to kill one Flesh Raider to get to the projector, since negotiation wasn’t exactly viable. Shielding from physical items with the Force almost took more energy than it was worth and didn’t sound very productive to her, despite being a nonviolent method. Not to mention the fact that she would be dead without the violent defense Rallinois had given her all those years ago.

Hold on. _What was she thinking?_ Questioning the philosophy of a founding member of the Order? Not even the current councilmembers were likely to challenge the original teachings and here she was anyway. That wasn’t her place as a padawan. She was proving to be more a contrary upstart than a promising student with that. Her only excuse was that she’d had a very long and trying day already.

After removing the hologram from the projector and tucking it into a waterproof sack on her belt, she made the climb down to the river, wincing each time she accidentally overextended her side. The river really wasn’t meant to be accessed from this location, but she found a large enough rock that she could stand on while washing her clothes.

Stripping, Phakrill dunked each garment into the cold river and started scrubbing. The blood didn’t come all the way out of any of her clothes, but there was already a giant hole in the side of each, ruining them. Since they were already unsalvageable, she felt no guilt in tearing up the outermost layer to reuse as a wrap for her wound.

Applying kolto was a relief and took a sliver of an edge off the pain, but she’d had to make the climb back up immediately after, in wet bandages and wetter clothes. The sun was setting and spending a cold night down by the river sounded terrible. Phakrill just needed to get up the steep banks and into a tree before the fogginess from the painkillers set in. Once she got herself off the ground, she could siphon them off in relative safety.

Phakrill spent the entire night tucked up in the nearest tree, shivering violently. Washing her clothes just before nightfall had been a bad idea in retrospect. She had to use the Force to keep her body temperature from dropping to dangerous levels and waiting for the next sunrise was agony. At one point, she’d even fished out her second comm unit and called Rallinois – something she’d _never_ done before.

The captain hadn’t picked up.

Rallinois must be busy, that’s why.

Yeah. It had to be that.

Her childhood hero would never ignore her on purpose. She’d get a message back by the end of tomorrow.

Nothing to fret over.

The thought that the captain was giving her the cold shoulder still plagued her, despite her efforts to reassure herself. She ended up calling again, a few hours later into her sleepless night. This time, Seetoo picked up the call. Immediately, Phakrill knew something was wrong by the way the little holoimage of the droid shifted and looked around before addressing her.

_“I am pleased that you called, Green Eyes,”_ it said, vocal modulator at the volume equivalent of a whisper, _“I was sad when I did not get a picture from you earlier.”_

“It’s good to see you too, Seetoo,” she said, just as softly. It wouldn’t do for a Flesh Raider to hear her. The light from the comm was already risky enough. Hopefully she was far enough up in the tree to be unnoticeable through the foliage.

_“How are your trials?”_

She grimaced at the innocent question. Then Phakrill reminded herself that Seetoo was a neutral party and wouldn’t hold anything against her if she admitted she was having a rough go at the tests. The droid’s opinion couldn’t influence the results.

“Not great. I’m really nervous and absolutely terrified,” she answered, barely loud enough for the comm’s mic to pick up, “I’d rather hear about your job on Ord Mantell.”

_“It is not great here either,”_ the droid confessed, _“The captain left to take care of a group of separatists. While she was gone, one of the ground crewmen stole the **Vow**. He has not noticed me yet, but I don’t have much time before–”_

Phakrill heard a man’s voice come over the speaker, cutting through the rest of Seetoo’s sentence. That must be the thieving crewman.

_“Well well well, what do we have here? Hand over the comm, droid, or you’ll be a heap of scrap metal.”_

The little image of Seetoo stood up straighter as the end of a blaster flickered on the edge of the projection. As snappily as its modulator could, the ship droid said, _“You are not authorized for access to this unit. I suggest you find your own.”_

“Seetoo, wait!” Phakrill blurted out, worried that her friend would get shot, “Let me talk to him.”

The droid shifted its feet and asked, _“Are you sure, Green Eyes?”_

“I am,” she said confidently. She definitely wasn’t sure about this idea, but if she could keep Seetoo intact long enough for Rallinois to find both it and her ship, Phakrill would say anything she needed to.

The droid disappeared from view and an image of a human man flickered into existence to replace him. The man’s face had a massive tattoo on it. It reminded Phakrill of some of the gang tattoos that were sported by the Coruscanti thugs she’d seen once while living there. This thief was probably just as unpleasant as the gangsters on her home world tended to be.

_“Huh. I gotta say, I didn’t expect the captain to have a cute little Jedi at her beck and call.”_

Sitting as straightly as she could while nesting in a tree, Phakrill affected the freezing expression she remembered her brother would use when talking to some he didn’t like. Coldly, she said, “She _doesn’t_.”

In as unconcerned a manner as she could maintain – and forcibly suppressing her shivers – she continued, “Since you’ve put Captain Ven out of contact, it falls to you to see my affairs on Ord Mantell through.”

As long as this thief didn’t figure out that her “affairs” on Ord Mantell never existed in the first place, she didn’t care about the lie. Seetoo could extrapolate from Rallinois’ plans to get the best idea of what believable bluffs she could play out to this guy. Her ability to read shatterpoints[2] could also help them refine their ruses and avoid paths with bad results. Then they could brainstorm some false assignments to string him along from the remaining options.

_“Alright, sweetheart, I’ll bite,”_ he said, _“The name’s Skavak. What can I help you with?”_

_Crap._ Uuuuuhhhhhhh, what did her brother use to keep people occupied while he figured stuff out? _Ah right,_ he gave them some meaningless task to keep them busy while he plotted.

“A trial run, to prove how efficient and reliable you are,” she answered haughtily, “Seetoo will monitor your progress. If you wipe its memory banks or I see a restraining bolt anywhere on it, I can assure you that my retribution will be swift.”

The tiny holographic Skavak raised his eyebrow and said, _“That doesn’t sound very Jedi-like.”_

“I never claimed to be a perfect _Jedi_ ,” Phakrill spat back venomously, her statement heavily laced with bitter truth. Perfection had always been forced on her by her teachers and she was _sick_ of it. She’d had her run and now it was someone else’s turn to feel the pressure of unattainable expectations.

_“Whoa, calm down there, missy!”_ Skavak suddenly wheezed out, _“I get the idea; no touching the droid.”_

She blinked.

_What??_

_“I’d rather you didn’t crush my lungs if I piss you off,”_ he said, rubbing his neck, _“but you can consider the warning received. Jeez.”_

_Oh. Oops._

Phakrill hadn’t even realized she’d done that.

Actually…she didn’t even know _how_ she did that; Force choking wasn’t on the standard Jedi curriculum, since it was a dark side skill and all. Her use of the technique – and the fact that she was able to do it over a comm call with someone in another _sector_ – was a juicy tidbit she wouldn’t be sharing with anyone. Especially Master Par. They’d definitely kick her out of the Order for that, which she couldn’t risk because Rallinois wasn’t available to come pick her up anymore.

Phakrill opened her mouth to give Skavak a menial data gathering task when the world fractured and branched. The holo of the thief multiplied before her eyes, each one reacting to a different phrase. Several ended with Seetoo taking a terminal blaster bolt to its chassis. Phakrill sifted those instances aside and pulled on one that reunited her, Rallinois, and the droid on Coruscant.

The events reeled away before her in barely more than a moment and she found herself staring at a single holo again, Skavak expectantly waiting for her to speak. The shatterpoint had been brief, but it revealed enough about the situation to give her a way forward.

“I received some interesting news about the separatist movement on Ord Mantell,” she said, letting a hint of a dark smile slip onto her face – just like her mother had, years ago, when faced with enemies, “I want you to find some validating information on their new acquisitions. You will report to me within the next two weeks. Consider this your _test_.”

She hung up on him and let herself slouch back onto the branches, shuddering from the cold. Rallinois and Seetoo had gotten themselves into a major dilemma this time. Phakrill didn’t have the grounds to bring this up to the High Council as a neutral party. And, if she went to anyone for advice on how best to help her friends, they’d immediately question how she came about her information. Then they’d confiscate her illegal second comm.

Seetoo would have zero backup in a hostile environment where it was essentially a captive if she lost access to the device. Skavak could then shoot it with no repercussions, and she’d be lightyears away. Not the best backup in the galaxy, but she supposed it was better than nothing even if she couldn’t drop her commitments to the Order and run off to Ord Mantell.

Sleep seemed a lost cause for tonight, as usual. Phakrill shifted into her customary meditation pose and let her mind empty, sinking into the Force. She’d use this time to conduct another analysis of her signature, since she had nothing better to do.

The festering bitterness was still there – as always – staining the edges of her presence. It had unsurprisingly become a little darker after the events of the day. Poking at it till it lightened back to its usual state, Phakrill left it alone once the cloud went back to normal. Ten years had proven fruitless in removing it from where it lingered by her shattered bonds.

The cracks around the aforementioned bonds had gotten deeper. She assuaged the ruptures as best she could, even though it was only a matter of time till that pain became too much. There were two inevitable futures that awaited her because of the scarring. Either the agony of her loss would push her into the dark side or she’d lose her mind. It was difficult to remember that she’d watched him die when phantom sensations leaked through the bond that had once connected them. It made her forget that he wasn’t just lost somewhere in the galaxy, doing his best to return to her.

None of the texts she’d delved into had revealed an answer to what she assumed was rising madness. The phenomenon had never shown up outside of the usual cases when a sentient lost a limb. Too bad prosthetics couldn’t solve a broken Force bond the way they could stave off phantom limb pain. It was just her luck that she was the first example of an anomaly in the Force. Those often led to an unpleasantly early death, usually with a fall just before.

With how the masters harped on about her great potential, Phakrill had little doubt that she could easily become a double-edged weapon. The longing that swamped her each time she thought she sensed her brother did nothing to reinforce her resolve stay in the Order. It was only that weakening commitment to the Jedi that kept her from hurtling across the galaxy in search of someone who no longer existed.

The worst part was that she knew she was growing more vulnerable to that temptation with each passing day.

[1] A founding member of the Jedi Order who felt that peace should be the Jedi’s ultimate goal. He discouraged violence outside of self defense, but also felt that the Jedi should be wary of even that much conflict.

[2] A complex Force phenomenon that is similar to a fault line. This can present in either diverging paths of action (based on a common starting event) or the literal points where an object will shatter. Perceiving shatterpoints without possessing an innate talent for it requires extreme focus and dedication.


	10. The One Where Santhenis Fries Some Slugs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unsure what to expect from a Sith tomb, Santhenis finds herself following Aelladios’ lead. That lead takes her straight into a k’lor’slug nest as a favor for the Imperial military. Much to her displeasure, an unpleasant part of her past is also revealed to her companion by an Imperial sergeant.
> 
> Warnings: hallucinations, swearing, references to slavery, injuries, blood, violence, Sith lightning, Force-related exhaustion

_Korriban, 10 ATC – Santhenis_

_The sand on Korriban was red. Not that dark, nearly black color like human blood. It was closer to the fruit delicacy she’d had to serve (but never taste) back on Tatooine. **[1]**_ _Almost orange. She’d never seen sand in any other colors besides pale gold and white. Someone bumped into her, but she barely registered it. Santhenis couldn’t tear her eyes from the red soil. It looked…wrong. Out of place. Sort of like her, actually, here on this **Sith** world._

_When she finally was able to look away from the fine particles, she saw the rest of the former slaves from the transport had already crowded around a man outside the building’s entrance. Santhenis was missing his speech. She’d gotten punished for that on Tatooine, and she expected it would be the same here, just different methods. Though she hurried over, the short haired human speaking to the group immediately singled her out, snidely remarking, “Ah, the last one to arrive is finally here. I hope you don’t think you’re special. It would be a shame if freedom went to your head, or if you somehow got the idea that you didn’t need to pass your trials to become Sith.”_

_The beady eyed man looked away from her and resumed addressing the crowd. This must be Overseer Harkun. The man – as she’d been told on Tatooine – who would prepare her to become Sith. His bad temper hadn’t been mentioned, but she wasn’t really surprised that he didn’t like her already. Santhenis doubted she’d like him back, even having known him for less than a minute._

_The Sith she’d met in that Hutt palace had only been mildly condescending, and at least a little helpful. Harkun probably only wanted to pick them off, one by one. Which **was** his job. Sort of. Santhenis decided she liked that other Sith better, even though she probably only thought that because they weren’t here as well. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, or whatever that saying was that she’d occasionally heard around the slave pens. Or maybe it was forgetful. That sounded familiar too._

_“Lord Zash has tasked me with sorting through you refuse to find one worthy of being her apprentice, and I intend to do just that,” Harkun announced, though it sounded like it pained him. He paused, and Santhenis remained silent as murmurs rippled through the small crowd of freed slaves. She didn’t want to draw any more attention to herself. That didn’t stop him from glaring at her again._

_She did allow herself a curious glance at the man’s facial tattoo, though open observation was always a risk for punishment (the slavemasters never did like it when she stared at them). It was so different from her own. His was far older though; his eyelid probably didn’t sting from the needles like the bridge of her nose still did. He waved the rest of the group away, saying, “Now the rest of you gutter trash already know your trial. Get going while I bring our latecomer up to speed.”_

**_Great._ ** _Her first day on Korriban and she was already being singled out for “special treatment.” **Fine.** She could handle this; she’d managed perfectly well the first time around. The only variance was that she was now under a Sith’s thumb instead of a Hutt’s. It couldn’t be that different._

_All of the other newly minted acolytes meandered through the nearby doorway, except for the only other woman in the group. A redhead who Santhenis knew was called Kory. She paused for a moment by the Mirialan’s side, with worried blue eyes and quietly whispered, “Watch your back, friend. And don’t worry. It’ll be alright. He can’t kill us all.”_

_That was too optimistic for Santhenis’ usual experiences with those who held power over others, but she nodded anyway and Kory left to follow the others. She doubted the softhearted woman would last long on a cruel world like this one. Kory really should have been picked up by the Jedi, but circumstances had led to her placement in the group that had caught a visiting Sith’s interest. This whole endeavor would probably end unfortunately for her._

_Santhenis’ attention was reluctantly drawn back to Harkun; the overseer leered at her now that he had her alone. His expression left a foul taste on her tongue. This was a man she never wanted to be alone with ever again, though she doubted the fulfillment of that desire. She’d come to understand what wishes were realistic over the long years, if nothing else. Now marked as “easy pickings” by the overseer, he’d move to isolate her frequently and in greater degrees. Standard intimidation methods, nothing unfamiliar._

_“Now, slave,” he spat, “for your trial: There’s a hermit named Spindrall who lives in the tomb of Ajunta Pall in the Valley of the Dark Lords. Spindrall’s a lunatic, but Lord Zash sees him as some kind of prophet. Once you find him, he will test you.”_

_“I understand,” she said quietly. She knew better than to aggravate a man with this kind of temper. Santhenis would rather start this trial without getting beaten until her skin went a sickening shade of teal. Or worse. She didn’t want to think about the worse options. The brown-haired overseer sneered as he walked away, taunting the Mirialan over his shoulder._

_“Don’t keep Spindrall waiting, slave.”_

_Santhenis watched him leave and then turned back to glance at the strange red sand one more time. Such an odd color – she wanted to look at it again._

_It was golden and pale now._

_Her breath caught in her throat and she span back around. A Hutt palace had replaced the solid gray landing pad from Korriban, looming over her. A heavy weight settled on the back of her neck._

_Lightning flickered on the edges of Santhenis’ vision._

_A woman with golden hair laughed at her._

Santhenis lurched upright on her cot, startling her redheaded companion out of his meditative trance. Taking deep breaths, she shoved the echoes of her dreams aside. This wasn’t Tatooine. Tatooine had been weeks ago. She was on Korriban, and Aelladios had taken over watch halfway through the night. Or what she assumed had been the night; there wasn’t any natural lighting in the tomb and it was messing with her internal chronometer. It was impossible to determine how far into the day they’d gotten when the soupy purple lighting never changed.

On the edge of her vision, she could still see the golden-haired woman she’d met just before getting sent off for these Sith “trials.” The Sith was smiling in a sickly-sweet manner, nodding encouragingly at the spark that leapt from one of the Mirialan’s hands. Santhenis glared at the apparition until it disappeared. A less offensive specter replaced the golden Sith: a shorter Mirialan girl with warm yellow-green skin. Santhenis couldn’t look straight at that one but allowed it to linger undisturbed on the peripheral.

Aelladios politely waited until she was breathing evenly and visibly settled before insisting on feeding her the remains of her still unfinished ration bar. He reminded her sharply of Kory for a moment, the sweet tempered young woman in her group…except that her current companion was leagues beyond the other redhead. And also had green eyes instead of blue.

Kory would be the first to get picked off, she mused while eating the tasteless food, either in the tomb or by Harkun. The other girl seemed to have barely any control over Fate’s energies and hardly enough power to have been included in the selection of slaves that made it to Korriban. She was undoubtedly the softest member of their pool, and that wasn’t conducive to survival in any scenario where Sith regularly appeared.

The present redhead pressed a few sips of water on her after she’d finished the bar under his watchful eye. She didn’t mind the brotherly behavior, but it was strange for him to have gotten so attached to her already. But then…she’d also seen sentients act like him before, though it was only in one specific case. Sometimes he’d just go blank, like he was supposed to know something but couldn’t find the information. It was uncomfortably similar to the behaviors she’d noticed in other slaves with memory problems. They’d also been quick to build rapport with new companions, despite the uncertainty that hung over all slaves.

Santhenis suspected he was showering affection and concern on her because he couldn’t remember the person he was supposed to be caring for. She was more familiar with his condition that she’d like to admit – because she wasn’t a medic and also didn’t want to pry into his past health issues – but keeping a subtle eye on his triggers and fits helped her feel less guilty about accepting his fussing. Owing people was never a nice feeling, especially when she’d been at a permanent disadvantage before this strange opportunity.

Aside from that whole issue, she was open to hanging around Aelladios. His readily shared knowledge (like the tidbit from earlier about how the tomb affected their comm units) would come in handy in an environment completely unknown to her. She’d take full advantage of the free aid for as long as he was willing to give it. Santhenis knew better than to ignore that kind of assistance.

Although…some Sith did prove themselves to be liars. Aelladios had mentioned an archive at the Academy. She’d make sure to fact check all of his information against the records there. Hopefully they’d have the necessary materials available in Huttese. Finding someone willing to teach her to read Basic[2] sounded like an impossibility on this planet. She definitely wasn’t going to outright ask Aelladios for such a favor, not after he’d already given her a “free” combat lesson. Better to find out what he wanted in repayment before digging herself deeper into debt.

Once Aelladios was satisfied with her nourishment, Santhenis turned her attention to the boots and tunic she’d set aside before her unfortunately nightmare-filled nap. The bold red fabric was suspiciously sand free. The boots were shortly revealed to be in the same condition. Her companion must have taken a break from his meditations to clean them for her, though he affected a disingenuously innocent expression as she inspected her clothing.

She gave him a mild glare but let his strangely transparent attempt at deception slide. That didn’t stop her from checking the integrity of each newly cleaned garment out of paranoia. They’d not been tampered with aside from the removal of sand. Another service she’d have to pay him for. Asking for Aurebesh[3] lessons was an even further possibility now than it had been moments before. _Damn._

He was…odd, exhibiting behavior she’d usually only seen in other slaves. He was certainly unlike any of the acolytes she’d expected to meet after Harkun’s open hatred towards her. Shockingly, even the incident with the biting hadn’t incited a single spiteful word from Aelladios. Any other Sith would have killed her for the offense to their pride. Or she suspected they would have; it sounded terribly in line with the general egotism their creed displayed.

It was very kind of Fate, to have allowed her to end up meeting the man who had to be the most abnormal acolyte on planet, even if she ended up in massive debt to him. Anyone else would have left her for those freaky slug things that hid in the sand, the moment her instincts had her curling into a ball. They also wouldn’t have hung around while she prepared to face another day on Korriban. She had no idea what to expect from today, now that she was in a Sith tomb. Hopefully Aelladios had an idea of what this entailed.

It was high time for them to get started on their trials too. She’d sat about mulling things over for long enough; Santhenis’ ponderings could wait until it was her turn to keep watch again. Following Aelladios out of the tent, she studiously ignored the mirage that wandered after them to the quartermaster’s tent. The Imperial officer managing the supplies inside was a middle-aged human woman who affected a polite but disinterested smile when they entered.

Opting to hover just behind Aelladios, Santhenis allowed her companion to open the conversation. She’d never been good at asking for anything. Asking meant getting punished, so she usually kept her mouth shut and endured, but that wasn’t a solid plan here. This was just another debt to pay off to her companion, but she was able to acknowledge that this one was unavoidable. He requested three weeks of rations. Then he turned to her and asked, “Do you think that’s enough, Santhenis?”

Fifteen nutrient bars and five water canisters would require each of them to acquire a bag. She discarded that concern once she saw the quartermaster pull two out of a crate and set them on the makeshift counter. Santhenis considered the bags for a moment. They were simple in design and had two straps to secure them to the shoulders, but the fabric looked sturdy.

It had been a long time since she’d owned her own bag. Santhenis thought she might have been ten. Maybe a little younger; she couldn’t quite remember. And the bag had probably actually belonged to her parents. Running a hand over one of the stitched seams on the closest satchel, she asked, “How long does it usually take to make it through the tomb?”

Setting a pile of individually wrapped bars on the counter, the quartermaster answered as she began packing the first bag. Her accent was crisper than anyone she’d ever met. Aelladios spoke similarly to the quartermaster, but Santhenis had noticed it slipped a little when he started to get foggy. She herself sounded exactly like an average nobody from Tatooine. The obvious clue to her background made her uneasy. She should practice talking like Imperials did.

“Beginning trials in this tomb take an average of one tenday to complete. We’re well supplied for that reason.”

“Time is also strange in places like this,” Aelladios added, patiently as ever, “Remember how our comms aren’t working?”

Santhenis nodded. She’d asked him why the device was glitching after she’d spent a frustrating amount of time trying to fix it last night. Ceasing her inspection of the second bag, she answered, “You said it’s because the energy of the tomb is unpredictable and can’t be measured; that it interferes with devices meant to perform those functions.”

“That’s right!” Aelladios said approvingly, “Sometimes the Force can even mess with your mind and make it seem like time is passing slower than it really is, so an extra week’s worth of rations is a good idea.”

He beamed at her. It was patronizing to be addressed in such a manner when she was already twenty standard, but Santhenis let it slide. She’d assumed the person he’d forgotten was much, much younger than either of them. It was pretty obvious from how he went about trying to instill knowledge in her. His endearing enthusiasm was easily forgivable in that light. He was also still doing a better job of explaining than that golden Sith had on Tatooine.

She genuinely hadn’t known any of this beforehand anyway. His tendency to present everything in basic and easily understood terms was helping her fill in a knowledge gap she hadn’t been aware of. Fact checking in the archive was still on her to do list though, despite her appreciation for the information. When the quartermaster nodded in agreement to the statement, she figured Aelladios was being legitimate in this instance, but she still wanted to check. Santhenis knew better than to trust blindly. Blind trust got people killed.

“There are some trials that do go longer than the normal tenday,” the Imperial was saying, “There’s enough rations for acolytes to request more than what they need, but not all of you remember to come by and ask for them.”

Curious, Santhenis asked, “How many acolytes forget?”

A typical Sith didn’t strike her as someone who remembered to plan around setbacks – at least not environmental ones – so she imagined quite a few of them breezed right on by the supplies without a second thought. In her opinion, anyone who trusted strength over sense in a desert got what they deserved. The quartermaster’s placid smile faltered and she uncomfortably adjusted the collar of her officer’s uniform as she admitted, “I’d say a good half, ma’am. The tomb claims most of them and the desert takes the rest that make it through. Thankfully, we aren’t held responsible for it.”

And there she’d gone making the quartermaster uncomfortable. Santhenis wasn’t used to being feared. It wasn’t something she was familiar with and she had no idea how to steer this interaction back to safer sands.

“Really, it’s their own fault for not using their resources. Any Sith worth their saber knows how important a good quartermaster is,” Aelladios slipped in with a commiserating tone. The quartermaster’s smile lifted back into something more genuine, a hint of a flattered blush on her cheeks. She even added a number of kolto patches to his bag that hadn’t been asked for. At least her companion knew how to keep conversations under control. It would be a nice skill to gain if she could ever manage to imitate Aelladios’ clever way with words. He had a way with smoothing over tension.

The quartermaster wished them both luck as they left her tent – though she was decidedly warmer when addressing the redhead. Just outside, he insisted they pause for a moment so he could practice drawing his battered weapons around his bag. That ended with Aelladios pulling off his vibroblade holsters and reattaching them to his belt. The number of rations they’d asked for made the bag too bulky to keep the weapons over his shoulders.

Once he was satisfied with the accessibility of his weapons, he immediately turned his pointed attention on Santhenis. She quickly discerned his intention from expression and took a half step away. As well-meaning as she knew Aelladios was, she didn’t want him that close to her. Despite her initial insistence that her current setup was fine, he countered with, “A quicker draw means you can defend yourself faster. If your weapon is caught by your bag, it’s just easier to kill you.”

Pausing in the full brunt of his concern (he really did sound genuinely worried) Santhenis caved and let him help her move her blade to a similar position at her hip, opposite of her non-dominant hand. When he’d looked at her incredulously for handling the blade with her weaker side, she’d admitted that if she held the weapon in her left hand, she’d fry the battery pack. Channeling electricity to her dominant hand came almost naturally after her brief lessons from the golden Sith on Tatooine. She was realistically worried that she’d just ruin the vibroblade accidentally through sheer force of habit.

Aelladios conceded – agreeing that her lightning was her best weapon – and made the rearrangement as quickly and painlessly as he could before retreating from her personal space. Once he was satisfied with their preparations, Aelladios let her lead the way to the barricade they’d seen the night before. A harried Imperial officer sheltered behind the stacked crates with a single additional trooper. Another soldier was laid out on a stretcher, a medic applying a tourniquet just above the horribly grotesque wound on his leg. The blood was seeping through the stretcher and pooling on the stone floor below him in that dark, dark color.

There had been at least ten more Imperials when they’d arrived last night (not including any of the medics). Aelladios glanced to her in question, inclining his head in their direction. _Of course_ he’d want to help them because of his stupid Fate-damned bleeding heart. Santhenis wasn’t even surprised. He was so much like Kory in that moment that it almost hurt to make the comparison _– no, she didn’t care about him that much –_ but he was at least competent. They had a decent chance of being helpful rather than in the way.

Then it occurred to her that brownnosing the Imperial military would earn her less enemies in the future, providing she could maintain friendly working relationships. While Aelladios could manage to get an amicable relationship established, Santhenis could probably figure out how to maintain it by herself from there. She nodded her consent and followed him over to the soldiers. The two men looked relieved to see them approach. The one in the officer’s armor said, “Excuse me, acolytes. Sergeant Cormun. Fifth infantry company, Korriban regiment. Can I – can I talk to you?”

Aelladios gave the nervous sergeant a friendly smile and said, “Of course.”

“Thank you,” he said, bowing to the redhead, before looking at Santhenis oddly and asking, “You’re one of the slaves Harkun brought in on the last transport, right? Here to prove yourself to the bloodthirsty overseers?”

Next to her, Aelladios stiffened at the same moment she did. That wasn’t a very…favorable reaction, but she’d have to deal with the redhead later. Santhenis couldn’t have everyone second guessing her newly acquired authority just because she’d been kidnapped by slavers as a child. If she did, she’d never advance past Harkun’s trials – an achievement she dearly wanted to rub into the Sith’s ugly face. Letting her fingers spark wildly, she hissed, “That’s not your concern.”

“Apologies if I offended,” Cormun rushed out sheepishly, “I thought you might appreciate the chance to not only show off for the overseers but build some ties with the Imperial military as well.”

Santhenis glared at him and he hurried onto his real problem, pulling out a diagram drawn on a piece of flimsi.[4] It looked like a series of chambers, presumably a map of the camp and the surrounding parts of the tomb. He indicated to the whole drawing as he spoke.

“I’m here commanding a hard target mission to exterminate k’lor’slugs in this tomb. They’re…horrific things. Mouths bigger than your head,” Cormun said with a shudder, “I’ve lost three squads of good men fighting them. They come in packs – they just…they’ll swallow a man whole.”

These k’lor’slugs must be the weird looking worm creatures that they’d encountered on their hike. While she had no desire to further familiarize herself with such beasts, she could see why someone who wasn’t blessed by Fate had such fear. She at least had her lightning and Fated warnings to keep her alive (and her redhead). Cormun only had whatever weapons the Empire deigned to provide.

Aelladios remained silent beside her, likely still stewing over the whole “slave” revelation; she was on her own for this conversation. _Ok._ She could mimic a Sith’s attitude. Yeah, no problem, _except the golden Sith decided to materialize behind Cormun’s shoulder._ Keeping her voice level and authoritative – and steadfastly ignoring the crooning, brown-eyed apparition – Santhenis asked, “What was your initial approach?”

“The damn k’lor’slugs breed so fast there’s no way to wipe them out conventionally,” he explained, “So we started targeting their egg chambers. They went insane.”

He indicated the location on the flimsi diagram. It was labelled in Aurebesh. Santhenis couldn’t read it, but based on where she assumed the camp was situated, it looked like it was at the far end of one of the nearby corridors.

“We managed to get explosives to all of the egg chambers, but the k’lor’slugs were all over us before we could detonate them.”

That explained why he’d lost all his men, save the two here at the barricade. Most animals would work themselves up into a frenzy if their young were threatened. She’d seen it plenty of times during her rotations in the beast pits. Aelladios finally reentered the conversation and picked up the diagram. After a short inspection, he asked, “We should be able to get in and set them off, don’t you think, Santhenis?”

He sounded the same as he had before his unexpected discovery of her past as a slave. Perhaps she didn’t need to be too worried about his thoughts on the subject as of yet. She was definitely still going to be addressing it later though; his opinion on it wasn’t something she wanted to be vague about. Shrugging, Santhenis said, “I think we could manage it.”

“Don’t underestimate those k’lor’slugs, sir. They’re…they’re smarter than they look,” Cormun said. Aelladios completely ignored the sergeant, which vindicated her offended feelings just a little. He set the diagram out again in front of Santhenis and pointed at a chamber.

“We’re here.”

That was not the one she’d thought they were in. It was several corridors further away from where the egg chamber was. Good thing Aelladios could read the map. She’d have gotten horribly lost on her own.

“If we’re going into the nesting grounds, we need to stay together,” he said matter-of-factly, “I can hold the swarm back if you set off the explosives, and then we run.”

All in all, she thought they could pull the simple plan off with a reasonable amount of success. She nodded her head in assent and made no contradictions. As she got more used to tasks like this, Santhenis was sure she’d have more input for him on later occasions. That wasn’t enough for Aelladios though. Her companion caught her eye again and said with emphasis, “We say _together_ , Santhenis.”

“Alright,” she acceded, verbally this time. Since he was the more experienced in combat, she had no issues tailing him to the nest chamber. He seemed more fidgety than usual though, which she attributed more to her own green combat abilities. No experienced guardsman liked being paired with a rookie, after all. With another check on their weapons, Aelladios determined them ready to set out and he walked briskly away from Cormun and past the barricade. Santhenis trailed after him quickly, almost on his heels.

Each step away from where Cormun was manning the barricade had Aelladios’ rigid back softening. _He really must not like the sergeant,_ Santhenis thought, just before her companion leapt towards the nearest group of k’lor’slugs. She delved into the fray after him, doing her best to utilize her newly acquired vibroblade. The golden Sith had followed them, taunting her from behind the beasts. Stubbornly, she refused to call up the lightning; Santhenis didn’t like satisfying this particular haunting specter.

It was a good thing that they weren’t facing other sentients in battle yet. Using just her physical weapon, Santhenis was having a difficult enough time keeping the k’lor’slugs from killing her. They weren’t even a sentient race and she’d already be dead without Aelladios beside her. Not that she’d had opportunities to fight and kill (unpunished) before this, but it was still embarrassing to have to rely so heavily on him. He danced in and out of her vision just like the mirages that haunted her. Always circling, always close.

Without the redhead, she would have been eaten by the first creature that managed to sneak behind her in the chaos. She’d been a little overwhelmed by the reeking stench of charred flesh and had forgotten to look anywhere but forward. Her companion had just sauntered off behind her and the k’lor’slug’s dying screeches had caught her attention. It had gotten uncomfortably close to her unprotected back. She also discovered a _very_ important difference between him and the Fate specters: Aelladios was solid.

This was belatedly remembered when a massive k’lor’slug erupted from the floor and she stumbled back into him (as did several moderately sized chunks of stone flooring). Both fell and that would have been the end of it if Aelladios hadn’t abandoned his weapons to seize her. He rolled them away from the striking talons and Santhenis lost hold of her own weapon as well. The k’lor’slug advanced, coming between them and where their vibroblades lay on the floor.

Aelladios called one of his blades back to him and flipped to his feet, but the monster wasn’t targeting him. It lunged at Santhenis where she lay prone on the floor, fanged mouth opening wide. Raising her hand reflexively, she felt the golden burn rise in her blood and released it for the third time in her entire life. Blue-violet lightning streaked around her, filling the passageway before them. The golden Sith crowed in delight from somewhere in the room, currently out of sight. Her companion’s weapon struck the dying beast a moment later.

They were both fortunate to have survived that incident, which they warily acknowledged during a lull that allowed them to retrieve their weapons. Rather than cut it that close again, Santhenis kept the aching trill of power just below her skin. A little lightning was useful when Aelladios and her blade were otherwise engaged (though she hated the unfettered glee on the golden Sith’s face). She was also careful to watch his position more closely; bumping into him might not work out as well if it happened a second time.

Arrival at the egg chamber showed them a room riddled with the remains of Cormun’s Imperial squadron and a large number of the creatures’ spawn. The k’lor’slugs swarmed the moment they realized there were two intruders in their midst. With surety, she knew such large numbers would quickly overwhelm even her companion’s prowess. Santhenis stepped away from Aelladios’ side and holstered her blade, stoking the fire in her blood. Lifting her hands, a wave of dark energy burst before her, roasting all of the juvenile k’lor’slugs.

It left her too lightheaded to defend against the injured brood creatures, who were furious at the deaths of their young. Struggling to draw her weapon, Santhenis valiantly attempted to hold it steady as the last sparks of her power faded. Aelladios leapt forward once again and drew the survivors’ attention to himself. A small mercy. She stopped trying to stifle her trembling.

While he slaughtered the brood creatures, Santhenis did her best to stay present. Now that she’d depleted her Fated power, there were several apparitions swimming before her eyes. Most of them dead, some of them not. Wading through the specters, she found the control panel for the nearest canister of detonite.[5] Entering a countdown for one minute, she waited to start the timer until Aelladios was finished with the stragglers.

The golden Sith was before her again and laughing, trying to goad her into setting the bombs off early and leaving her companion to his death. Santhenis angrily ignored the woman, keeping a steady eye on Aelladios. When the last k’lor’slug fell, he holstered his right blade and gave her the signal. The timer began to count down. Seizing her hand and running, he pulled her behind him as they fled the chamber. The difference in their stride left her barely able to keep pace with him.

The passageway shuddered ominously as the explosion destroyed the egg chamber, threatening to collapse above them as well. Looking up, she could see an expanding spiderweb of cracks. Splintering fragments began to fall from the ceiling. Santhenis let out an embarrassed yelp when the tall redhead stowed his other weapon to scoop her up and start sprinting. The rumbling grew louder and the ceiling fell.

Aelladios lurched and rolled forward, somehow keeping his hold on her secure. Dust began to settle around them. In the dim purple light, she could see that they’d managed to make it out before getting crushed. Aelladios stood, and her head swam. The noise of falling rocks turned her lightheadedness into a splitting headache.

He still hadn’t put her down, carrying her like she was a small child. To be fair, she was about the size of an average kid, despite her age. Santhenis also wasn’t going to complain about a free ride right now. A few clattering rocks rang in her ears painfully. An opportunistic k’lor’slug reared out of the rubble nearby, barely alive. In its death throes, it lunged at them.

Spinning out of the way, Aelladios used a Fate enhanced kick to send it flying away. The creature smacked into a crumbled pillar and didn’t move again. Spinning left Santhenis even dizzier. Burying her face into her companion’s tunic, she groaned into his shoulder. Hopefully she could keep her morning meal down long enough for them make it back to the camp. She was vaguely aware that he was following the trail of carcasses they’d left behind earlier to guide their return.

Once they were safely behind the camp barricade again, Aelladios set her down. She forced herself to keep her breathing calm as her head span sickeningly. If she’d lasted this long already, she refused to retch in front of the sergeant. Latching on to the cuff of his sleeve, she closed her eyes and let him guide her back to Cormun. The migraine was terrible, but it wouldn’t reach the same levels as the one she’d suffered after the incident on Tatooine. She’d managed to avoid sinking into the golden haze this time.

“I heard the explosions when you set off the charges,” Cormun said enthusiastically, “Outstanding, sirs.”

Santhenis wasn’t in the mood to deal with the simpering sergeant, so she kept her mouth shut and let Aelladios handle their reward. As soon as he was done stowing the credit sticks in their bags, he ushered them both to the nearest, blessedly empty tent. It ended up being the same one they’d shared the night before. Shoving another nutrient bar at her, he said seriously, “You need to eat and rest. I can tell you’re pretty new to this if that much lightning puts you out of commission.”

Santhenis peeled open the wrapping and took a small bite, despite how her stomach wanted to revolt. It was just as tasteless as the last one. Actually, it was less palatable than usual because she had zero appetite. Sleeping sounded much better, but she still ate half the bar at Aelladios’ behest and drank a significant amount of water. Then she laid down without even pulling her boots off.

The redhead considerately did that for her a moment later before settling himself on his own cot to keep watch. At length, he said quietly, “I’m glad you’re here now, instead of wherever you were before.”

Santhenis allowed herself a small smile in the darkness. She was pretty sure even Tatooine would be livable if she had someone like Aelladios with her, but she knew what he was really admitting to. He didn’t care if she’d been a slave. He was going to be a powerful Sith someday and _he didn’t care._ He wanted her _free._ Whispering softly to the still air, Santhenis agreed.

_“Me too.”_

[1] A desert planet in the twin sunned Tatoo system that has a bad reputation for being a haven of scum and villainy. It is thought to be one of the oldest planets in the explored regions of the galaxy. Tatooine was once a jungle world with massive oceans, but was reduced to a wasteland when the Rakatan Infinite Empire bombed the surface (though it is possible that the natives had already set the environment on a path to desertification).

[2] Also known as Galactic Basic or Galactic Standard, this is the most prevalent language spoken in the known galaxy. Most of its basis is in Old Coruscanti, but the language has evolved and included vocabulary from over twelve other languages across many thousands of years. The majority of sentient species have the capacity to speak Basic, though there are some notable exceptions like Gamorreans and Wookiees.

[3] The most common of the written forms of Basic. Its name comes from the first two characters of the lexicon, Aurek and Besh. It’s currently the official alphabet of both the Empire and Republic.

[4] A shortened version of the word flimsiplast. Flimsiplast is a very thin sheet of acrylic material. It is generally more durable than paper, but if soaked for too long in a liquid, it will dissolve.

[5] A standard explosive substance. It is similar to a putty and is stable until charged with energy, radiation, or even a huge amount of kinetic energy. After 10 years, it does become more unstable.


	11. The One with A Broken Cam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning afters are some of Rallinois’ least favorite events. Rather than tagging along to secure Private Wesner’s body, the captain goes to scavenge the sniper camp. She makes an unexpected discovery there.
> 
> Warnings: swearing, mentions of dead bodies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking for the latest chapter? Please head back to Chapter Three! It was added in by special request from my wonderful partner :)

_Ord Mantell, 10 ATC – Rallinois_

Waking up the morning after a job – in Rallinois’ opinion – was always the worst. Especially when the job wasn’t really finished. She groaned to herself in complaint and sat up, looking around for Seetoo.

Rallinois was not on the _Vow_.

Ugh. _Right._ She was in the Pub’s forward recon camp. Seetoo was wherever her starship had gotten boosted to, instead of making fun of her like it usually did over half completed jobs. Her filthy clothing was still coated in a generous layer of Ord Mantell’s surface. There was a muddy impression on the cot from where she’d lain all night. _Gross._

Triz was catching some shut eye on the cot across from her, just as muddy. She must have left someone else to finish out the night’s watch rather than waking Rallinois. That was concerning actually, now that she remembered where she was. Wesner’s squad medic had needed to first pull rank and then sedate the two remaining troopers last night. The captain bolted to her feet and exited the tent to check the other residents of the meager campsite.

She let out a relieved breath when she saw the medic sitting next to the troopers – who had acquired a matching set of anklets in a pair of plasteel cuffs. Another set of wrist binders was clipped between the anklets and a lead rope tied to the medic’s seat (a heavy looking storage crate). Medical officers, Rallinois decided, were the _only_ tolerable members of the Republic army. As well as the most entertaining to watch, though she was too groggy to fully appreciate the scene. Forcing a lighthearted tone, she asked, “How many times did they try to bolt during your watch?”

The dark-haired medic snorted and answered, “Just the one time that landed them in cuffs, Ven. How’d you sleep?”

“Passably,” Rallinois lied (she’d been up half the night fretting about Green Eyes and Seetoo), “Triz is still out.”

The medic eyed her like she knew it was a fib but didn’t say anything more. Rallinois suspected it was because she wasn’t part of the unit and therefore outside jurisdiction. Wesner’s medic had been a hardliner on regulations so far, but the captain wasn’t part of the Republic military and was exempt from their pecking order. The other woman was clearly at the top of this little squad, her firm insistence helping to keep Triz in line yesterday and preventing Wesner from cowing to the sergeant.

Giving Rallinois a cup of caf immediately had the captain showering silent praise on the officer. It was rough trying to function the morning after a job without her usual pick me up. _Praise the stars over her head and all that._ Even though it was just the low-quality shit requisitioned by the army.

Halfway into the cup she was finally awake to appreciate how truly _disgusting_ it was compared to the expensive stuff she stocked for herself on the _Vow_. Discreetly spitting her current mouthful back into the mug, Rallinois returned to the tent to fetch her canteen. While she was washing her mouth out, Triz woke up to catch her grumble of, _“Army caf should be illegal,”_ and laughed at her. Then the sergeant had the utter gall to get her own cup of the atrocious sludge and down the whole thing in two seconds, staring Rallinois dead in the eyes.

She sincerely hoped Triz burnt her tongue off.

Rallinois left the tent to avoid the unreasonably smug sergeant. The acting private (who was still handcuffed to her fellow trooper and the supply crate) smiled sheepishly as the Twi’lek rejoined them. Then she asked, “Can you help with our morning checks? I’m a little…tied up.”

The medic glared at the acting private and made no move to uncuff her fellow soldiers. Those two troublemakers weren’t going anywhere soon, so the captain set about reviewing their equipment. The tech specialist called out tips as she went over the daily system diagnostics, helpfully informing her about the dead zones on the weathered display.

When Triz emerged from the tent, the acting private roped her into going through the weapon checks. The Zabrak threw herself into the task after tossing a (somewhat) good natured challenge at the captain. Despite the sergeant’s valiant effort to complete her task in record time, Rallinois finished first.

She wasn’t gloating.

Ok, maybe she was a _little_.

With the daily “chores” out of the way, they all huddled around the portable caf machine to discuss the logistics of retrieving Wesner’s body. According to their medic, the camp was supplied with a portable cryo chamber[1] that they could use. However, the hover carrier it was on was better suited to the trails that led to Fort Garnik, not the uneven terrain they needed to cross during retrieval. They did have a medical stretcher. The unanimous consensus was to take the cryo chamber as close as they could before carrying the body to it.

Since they were already going back out for a body, Rallinois wanted to check the snipers’ camp again. They only needed three people max for retrieval; one to stay with the chamber and two to carry the stretcher. She was able to convince Triz to accompany the acting private and the medic, leaving her to run over to the other camp. It was in their best interest to make sure no seppies had moved back in and gave her an opportunity to rummage around for anything useful. The tech specialist agreed to stay back at camp again, monitoring the comms and satellite footage just in case more separatists began moving into the area while they were out.

Once the plans were finalized, Rallinois left camp at a jog, keeping one of her blasters ready in the admittedly unlikely situation that the seppies had already posted more snipers. There probably wouldn’t be any more unless a fresh group had already been on their way, but she didn’t like getting caught by surprise. The camp likely wouldn’t be functional until they could sway more to leave the Republic’s side of the conflict (slim chances at this point; most Mantellians had already decided their loyalties permanently).

Moving through the mud was much easier by daylight – and moving upright for that matter – so she made good time, reaching the farmstead before a half hour had passed. The crumbling building looked worse than it had last night, but she supposed that was the result of the forgiving effects of shadowy nighttime lighting. Their watchman’s body was still slumped against the side of the structure.

Once again, she paused at the front door. The cracked nameplate had the surname _Holrusc_ stamped on it in Aurebesh. Rallinois was also dead sure she’d heard that name somewhere significant but couldn’t scrounge up the memory. _Holrusc…_ wasn’t that some high-ranking officer in the Republic military? Or maybe a member of the Senate…

Even after ten minutes of staring at the stupid sign, she still couldn’t recall anyone well known with that family name. It was going to bother Rallinois endlessly until she remembered. Maybe she could ask Seetoo to run a search in its spare time, once they were reunited.

Cautiously, she entered the house once again and crept towards the main room where the seppies had set up. Inside were four corpses and no reinforcements. Holstering her gun, Rallinois began the scrub process she should have gone through the night before, starting with the powered off comm station. It was a simple task to fry the device’s mainframe and render it useless. Granted, the seppies would find their inability to hail the sniper camp suspicious, but if last night’s radio silence hadn’t prompted an investigation team, then they wouldn’t send one now either.

Next, she dug around their supplies, scavenging anything she could carry back to the Republic camp. She ended up with about a bag and a half’s worth of rations, plus some ammunition for the guns she’d already lifted. The final step of her scrub was searching the rest of the house for anything useful that the seppies might have missed. Most of the rooms were dusty and empty. Rallinois was almost ready to wrap up the search when she spotted an old metal crate half buried under some rubble in one of the bedrooms.

She dug it out. The locking mechanism was ruined, but the wall that had collapsed on top of the box had warped the lid enough that she was able to jimmy it open. Inside was an old-fashioned cam device (broken), a pigment stylus[2] (dry), and several binders (mostly undamaged). They probably belonged to the farmstead’s original residents, whoever that had been before the seppies moved in. Rallinois opened one. It was full of flimsiplast pictures, mostly of what she assumed had been Ord Mantell’s landscape before the current civil war. There were a lot more plants back then.

Then she saw the dates printed on the edges of the photograph.

Rallinois grabbed another binder and flipped through the pages, comparing the handwritten timestamps. She swore under her breath. The most recent image was a picture of a near human woman and a young child from twelve years _before_ the Treaty of Coruscant. It was a fucking miracle that they’d survived untampered through two civil wars and twenty-two years.

Shoving the rare find into the half empty bag, Rallinois figured it was worth hauling them around. If the photographs couldn’t help her figure out why the _hell_ Holrusc was such a familiar name, then she could always give them to Green Eyes. The teenager loved studying both artifacts and abandoned belongings, and these were well within her realm of interest. Deeming her search complete, Rallinois shouldered the bags and activated her comm.

“Ven here. Sniper camp is still abandoned. I’ve scavenged what I could and I’m heading back.”

_“Copy,”_ answered the tech specialist, _“Retrieval has been successful. We’ll see you back at camp.”_

Trudging through the mud from the sniper camp took longer than the walk there, since she was burdened by two full bags. She also stopped to pick up rifles and ammunition from the seppies she’d killed yesterday. The only exciting thing to happen to her was slipping around through the mud and almost ruining the binders. Luck was on her side though, and she caught herself before she did. Her jacket was further coated in mud – as were the rifles – but better those than the present for her kid.

Back at forward recon, the medic was cleaning Wesner’s body as best she could. Rallinois could hear the acting private crying from inside one of the tents. Awkwardly ignoring the sobs, she handed the muddy guns off to Triz. The bag contents she handled herself; she didn’t want anyone trying to nab the binders. She kept the bag they were in too, pulling the straps back on and clipping them together across her chest.

When the acting private finally pulled herself together to say a few words of respect over the late Private Wesner, Rallinois volunteered to escort the body to Fort Garnik. She was headed there anyway, and the squad couldn’t spare sending one of their own.

Sergeant Triz also volunteered in the same breath and for the same reason.

This was going to be a _long_ two weeks.

[1] A capsule used to transport perishable items or keep a critically injured sentient alive long enough to reach a medical facility.

[2] My name for the equivalent of an in-universe pen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School has been busy, but I'm passing all my classes! I'll keep working on this in my spare time, but please don't be disappointed if there aren't regular updates. I do have the first 30 chapters roughly plotted out though :) I just have to expand and then edit them until they meet my self-imposed standard of quality lol


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